Joining the Fold
by Duckflesh
Summary: This story details the life of Severus Snape and the other Death Eaters during Voldemort's first reign, immediately following Snape's graduation from Hogwarts. Please review so that I know it is worth writing more chapters! Chapter eleven added Oct. 14
1. Chapter 1

_**Joining the Fold**_

_**By Duckflesh**_

WARNING: Contains Deathly Hallows spoilers. Do not read unless you have read all of the Harry Potter books, or you don't care what happens in them.

This story takes place immediately following Severus Snape's graduation from Hogwarts. It does not take place in any kind of alternate time frame, and is meant to match up with current canon (though the story itself is obviously not). Comments and criticism are welcome. More chapters may follow. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 1**_

It was funny, really. For Severus Snape's first five years at Hogwarts, the train rides had always flown by. It seemed that only moments after boarding the train, he was forced to disembark, destined either for the House-divided tables of the Great Hall, or, worse, for home. Not since his fifth year, though. Now he found that every minute ticked excruciatingly by, if they even passed by at all.

This ride, his last, was no different. He glanced out the window. They had long since left the isolated Hogwarts area, and were now passing through muggle countryside, as boring as it was endless. He considered rifling through his trunk for his _Advanced Potions _book, but he knew it would just irritate him. He had lost his own thoroughly annotated copy just weeks ago, and had had to purchase a new one. The author was an idiot. So many mistakes, so much ineptness. It barely seemed worth correcting it all again.

He glanced over at Avery, a relatively short, chubby fellow with a serious face that belied his doughy physique. Not much good conversation there. Avery was scowling down at an issue of the _Daily Prophet_, no doubt reading about the Ministry's latest attempts at quelling the Death Eater problem. Snape knew, however, that Avery was taking it all far too seriously. The little attempts the Ministry was making to promote safety were basically useless gestures, designed for no other reason but to save face. Snape didn't know why they bothered. The few remaining wizards with the courage to oppose the Dark Lord wouldn't be fooled, and no one else really cared.

Avery wasn't much good for chatting with, but Snape didn't mind. He wasn't really the chatting type.

They were alone in the compartment. He heard laughter coming from somewhere off down the compartment, where he happened to know several Gryffindor girls were sitting. He dove as deeply as he could into his thoughts, attempting to block the sound out of his ears. _Think of anything else_, he thought. _Polyjuice Potion. Veritaserum. Felix Felicis. _

A better distraction presented itself when the compartment door slid open, causing Snape to look up. In the hall stood two admittedly attractive Slytherins. They appeared as though they'd been torn off the cover of a fashion magazine. On the left, Rodolphus Lestrange, and on the right, arm wrapped around Rodolphus' waist, Bellatrix Black. Each one wore a Prefect's badge on their breast, though neither was dressed according to the regulations for Prefects. It wasn't because this was their last day holding the position. They'd never bothered much with the regulations. Rodolphus had discarded his sweater and robe. The knot of his tie, however, was perfect. His shirt looked like he had ironed it immediately before putting it on. Snape suspected that Rodolphus usually _did_ iron his shirts immediately before putting them on, but didn't see the point in asking. Bellatrix had kept her robe, but it was furled low over her shoulders. The top three buttons of her shirt were conspicuously undone. Her skirt had long ago been clipped to be at least three inches shorter than those that the other girls wore.

Looking at the pair of them always made Snape feel a little self-conscious of his own clothes, wrinkled and dirty as they were. It was worse today, because he was in his muggle clothes, unlike the rest of them. He hoped no one mentioned it, but they usually did. Even his school uniform had never really looked right, though. After seven years, his tie still always looked as though a child had tied it. He supposed he just had more important things to worry about. His ears drifted again to the sound of laughter.

"Sev!"

"Hrm?" Snape was called out of his reverie, and brought his eyes back up to the prefects, who had ambled into the compartment. Rodolphus lay back in a seat, Bellatrix draping herself over him like a blanket. Rodolphus was grinning at him.

"Excited, Sev? We can finally put this damn school behind us, get out there into the real world."

"I'm glad we've had all those Defense Against the Dark Arts classes," Snape said, softly, "in case we are encountered by dreadful dark wizards in an alley when we get off the train."

Avery chortled behind his newspaper. Rodolphus grinned even wider, and from his lap, Bellatrix seemed to stifle a laugh, passing it off as a cough. Snape glared at her briefly.

"Well," Rodolphus continued, "it's sure nice to know that I've got a, erm, _position_ waiting for me when I get out of here. Avery, too. Both our dads are veterans. With the Dark Lord from the start."

Avery dropped the paper to his lap, scowling. "Just go ahead and tell the whole train, why don't you? I'd prefer not to get expelled fifteen minutes before getting off the train for the last time, thanks."

Rodolphus smirked. "You've already got your diploma, moron. Besides, everyone already knows. What the hell are they going to do about it? Nothing, for as long as they like having living relatives."

Avery glowered at him, but disappeared behind the _Prophet_ again.

Rodolphus rolled his eyes. "Besides, it's not as th--Hey! Rosier! Where the hell do you think you're going? Get your ass in here!"

Evan Rosier entered the train car, a resigned look on his face. He was blonde, attractive, and of medium build, though he was a bit shorter than average.

"Yes?"

"Yes, what, Rosier?"

Rosier sighed. "Yes, Prefect sir?"

"That's the spirit, Rosier! So, you're going to be a Seventh Year this September! Excited?"

"Yes. Sir."

"Aren't you worried that all your buddies are graduating this year?"

"I'm sure I'll manage."

Snape rolled his eyes. He wondered why Rodolphus enjoyed harassing Rosier so much. Granted, it was nothing personal. He did it to all the younger students, and Rosier was a very talented wizard… chances were, they'd be "working" together within a few years.

Snape, his mind having trailed off and his gaze lowered, looked back up. Bellatrix had apparently gotten bored, because she and Rodolphus were now fiercely kissing. Rosier looked on, awkwardly. He caught Snape's gaze.

"Hey, Sev."

"Hello, Rosier."

"Exited to be leaving?"

"Not really."

"Not really? But you've been planning this for going on four years!"

Snape shrugged. Rosier was right, of course, but for the majority of those years, his future hadn't seemed especially important to him. Not much did, actually. He briefly listened to hear if any noise was coming from down the corridor, but he was greeted only by silence.

"Well, listen; write me some time, alright? And I'll be seeing you soon after I graduate, I bet." Rosier flashed him a conspiratorial grin.

"Sure, sure. See you."

Rosier gave him a final nod, then turned to Avery.

"Avery," he said.

Avery's newspaper ruffled in such a way as to suggest that Avery may have nodded in farewell from behind it.

The compartment door slid shut, and Snape was once again alone with the occasional ruffle of Avery's paper and an obnoxious smacking sound coming from Rodolphus and Bellatrix. He rifled through his trunk until he found _Advanced Potions_, and started flipping through it.

"Ingredients for a Sleeping Drought haven't changed since yesterday, have they, Sev?" asked Rodolphus, who had apparently dislodged himself from Bellatrix. Luckily, she pulled him to her again before Snape had to bother thinking of an appropriately snide response.

Snape looked back down at the book. He flipped to a page inside where he had painstakingly re-copied the instructions for casting Sectumsempra. He smiled, thinking about how happy he had been when he'd finally gotten the spell to work correctly. He fondly remembered gashing James Potter's face with it during his fifth year.

But, why stop there? He thought of James kneeling before him, begging for mercy. He'd laugh in response. He'd point his wand at Potter's forehead, utter the words, and bifurcate him. It'd be messy.

What would Lily say, though? It'd be hard for her, but she'd get over it. She'd come to understand that he hadn't been good enough for her.

No, she wouldn't.

It was pointless to even fantasize about it.

He snapped the book shut and shoved it back into his trunk. No one noticed his anger; Avery was busy muttering at the Editorials page, and the other two were… engaged.

Snape was relieved when the train finally began to slow. It was almost over. He could put the last two years of pain behind him, and move on with his life.

No, he wouldn't. He'd never be able to move on. Not unless…

He growled, shook his head, and stood up. Avery mimicked him, but kept right on reading. Snape briefly considered that his fellow graduate probably should have been able to finish reading a newspaper by now. Avery's grades were nothing to write home about, though. Then again, Avery's father wasn't exactly concerned about NEWTs.

Rodolphus had dislodged from Bellatrix again. He kissed her on the cheek before standing.

"I'll go grab the stuff from the Prefect's car, babe. Meet me outside the platform, my dad's here, he's gonna take us straight to…" He stopped himself, barely, but his smirk was enough to leave Snape with little doubt as to whom he was referring.

Rodolphus walked forward and clasped Snape's shoulder.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you real soon, Sev. Later!" He strode out of the compartment. Avery shuffled after him, finally tossing the paper, crumpled, to the floor of the train car. He nodded briefly to Snape, then slid out.

"Finally alone, Snivelus!"

_Oh, wonderful_, Snape thought. He ignored her, grabbing his trunk and enchanting it to levitate behind him.

"They all seem pretty sure that the Dark Lord will consider you good enough for him, Sevvy. But I think you and me are a little less convinced, huh?"

He shuffled towards the door, careful to remain expressionless.

"After all, Snivelus, even the Dark Lord expects _some degree_ of personal hygiene of his servants."

Something snapped. He turned to her, slowly. "I notice you enjoy calling me 'Snivelus'," he said, leering. "That name was coined by Sirius Black. Now, wasn't he a cousin of yours? You know, seems to me, he really likes to consort with mudbloods. What does that make him, again? What's it called, a blood traito—"

"You shut the hell up, Snive—" She stopped herself from using the name again, her cheeks flushing. "You son of a bitch!" She yelled instead, springing to her feet. He saw the hate in her eyes, and it temporarily cheered him up. However, her deprecating sneer quickly returned.

"Yeah, that's right, actually, isn't it? Your mum may have been a wizard, but she married a muggle, didn't she. Snape is even a muggle name. Which do you think is worse? My disgrace of a cousin, or your having a filthy muggle for a father and a muggle-lover for a mother? You're practically a mudblood, aren't you, Sevvy?"

His wand was out in a flash, pressed against the center of her forehead. He saw the fear glint in here eyes, though she tried to cover it with a smirk.

"Oh, come on, I dare you. Rodolphus would tell his father, and you know who _he'd_ tell."

Snape pictured perfectly even halves of Bellatrix falling to the floor in front of him, blood spraying all over the compartment. However, her words were unfortunately true. He pocketed the wand and slid out the door.

"Bye, Sevvy!" She yelled after him. "Maybe we'll be paying you and your dad a visit real soon, huh?"

Snape stepped down onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters in a worse mood then ever. He quickly approached a uniformed man and arranged to have his trunk stored at the station until he sent for it. He didn't bother looking around for his mother or father. He'd have to find his own way home, if he even decided that he wanted to go back there. He walked quickly through the crowds of reuniting families, head down.

He bumped into someone, hard. Looking up, he saw Wilkes, a Slytherin from his year, who had apparently been walking just as fast in the other direction. Wilkes was very tall, with a nervous face and black hair that was usually matted by sweat. It was apparent that he wouldn't be disapparating, like most of the other Slytherins, as he was dressed to leave the station on foot. Like most purebloods, he didn't have a very good idea of muggle clothing, and what he had chosen to put on was quite bizarre. It included a Christmas sweater and what appeared to be swimming trunks. Wilkes' eyes met Snape's.  
"O--oh, S--Severus. I'm sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Don't worry about it, Wilkes. Where have you been? I was alone with Avery, you know."

"Hehe, and he was alone with the _Prophet_, I bet! Huh, Sev?" Wilkes broke down into a fit of disconcerting giggling. Snape took this in stride. It was relatively normal behavior, for Wilkes. Even the other Slytherins didn't particularly like him. Snape had sat with him at dinner a lot, back before he'd gotten to know Rosier, who he rather preferred.

"I have to go," Snape said. "I guess I'll be seeing you, Wilkes."

"Sure, Sev." Wilkes giggled nervous, then clambered off. Snape wondered briefly if he had any idea where he was going. It was rumored that Wilkes hadn't gotten a single NEWT. Granted, Avery might not have done much better, if he hadn't cheated. He shook his head to himself. Sometimes it seemed like pure blood was overrated.

Snape continued on his course. Granted, he wasn't really sure where he was going. He scowled as, only moments after leaving Wilkes, he felt a hand tap on his shoulder. Was he going to have to make small talk with everyone he knew before he had even got off the platform?

He spun, a rude "what?" ready to leave his lips, but it never emerged. He stared into the green eyes of Lily Evans. She was smiling, albeit weakly. She had on her school skirt and a pretty red sweater, and would easily blend in with the muggles outside.

"Hey, Sev."

He managed to prevent his knees from shaking, and then attempted to hold his body so that he didn't look as uncomfortable as he felt. He doubted that it had any effect.

"Lily…"

"I guess I'll be seeing you around this summer?"

"Oh, erm, maybe…"

"Are your parents coming to pick you up?"

She already knew the answer, but the look on his face confirmed it. She pushed on.

"Well, listen, do you need a ride home? My sister's picking me up."

He balanced in his head the pros of a car ride with Lily, and perhaps their first non-forced conversation in two and a half years, and the cons of constant sniping from Petunia Evans. It wasn't a very hard decision.

"Yeah, I sup-"

"Oh, and James, of course," She added, as though she had forgotten. Snape felt his heart plummet to his stomach, where he was fairly certain that it shattered into a million pieces. Worse still, James Potter had appeared behind Lily, hauling their trunks. He sneered slightly at Snape from over Lily's shoulder. He was dressed relatively convincingly. He was a pureblood, so Snape wondered if Lily had had to pick out his clothes for him. Somehow, the idea infuriated him.

"Actually," Snape said, "I wasn't really planning on going home."

"Oh…" she said, concern showing in here eyes. Or, was it fear? "But, where will you go, Sev?"

"I think we've all got a pretty good idea of where he's going to end up," James Potter said, voice dripping with spite.

"James!" Lily said sternly, but her eyes looked less upset than they did sad. Snape avoided meeting them.

"I think I might just get a room on Diagon Alley until I figure out what I want to do."

He doubted he'd be staying on that particular alley. The look in James' eyes suggested that he doubted it, too.

"Well," Lily said, "I heard your NEWT scores were great. In not too long, you'll have your choice of teaching jobs at Hogwarts."

"Sure," Snape said.

"Come on, Lily, we've better get going. You've go to show me how to drive, remember?"

Lily smirked at Snape. "Oh, this'll be a treat."

Snape didn't return the smile. For a moment, no one spoke.

"Well," she said finally, looking at the ground, "I'm sure I'll see you around, Sev."

"Yeah. See you, Lily."

She took a quick step forward, surprising him, and clasped his hand, which had been hanging limply at his side. He felt his pale cheeks flush red. James scowled slightly.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Lily said, quite softly, and she stared at him until he met her eyes.

"Okay," he said, fairly certain that he was lying. She smiled sadly and turned around, and she and James headed towards the exit together.

Snape stood there staring after her, people streaming around him as he blocked the path. It wasn't until the two of them had nearly reached the barrier and she had looked as though she were about to glance back at him over her shoulder that he spun around and allowed himself to be taken up by the current of the crowd. He headed for a bench and sat heavily upon it, trying to regain his composure. He brought his hand up to his face and stared at it for some time.

Finally, he came back to his feet. The crowds had finally begun to dissipate. Within a few minutes, the place would be deserted. He headed for the barrier, and walked through it.

A hand immediately grabbed him and pulled him into a crowd of people heading towards the building's exit, still quite a ways of. He found himself walking next to Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy's blonde hair was carefully slicked back. He wore loose-fitting black robes, which were getting him quite a few looks from passing muggles. His hand was casually draped over Snape's shoulder. Snape blinked.

"Malfoy!"

"You sound surprised to see me, Snape."

"That would be because I am."

"Come, did you think I was going to let you rot in that half-blood household you came from? I've told_ him_ all about you, and he's very excited to meet you."

"The Dark Lord… is _excited _to meet me?

"Well, perhaps excited is the wrong word. But he's not going to kill you on sight, and that's about as good a deal as you're going to get."

"Erm, no."

"There you are, then."

"Look, Malfoy, I was thinking maybe I'd take a few days to myself."

Malfoy blinked at him, and stopped walking. Several muggles bumped into them, then detoured around them with a series of muttered apologies. Malfoy pulled Snape against the wall, where they were out of the crowd.

"Listen to me, Snape. I'm offering you the deal of a lifetime. You're five years younger than me, but I still kept track of you after I left Hogwarts, because I knew you had talent. I've informed the Dark Lord that you're second to none in potion-making, and a prodigy when it comes to," he smirked as he said it, "Defense Against the Dark Arts. And quite adept at all the other subjects, as well."

"You haven't been exaggerating my abilities, I hope."

"I hope not, too, for both our sakes. You'd better live up to expectations, Snape, or we both just might wind up seeing green."

"Yeah. But like I said, I'm not really sure I want to-"

"Dammit, Snape! This is what you've always wanted! What do you think the other options are? Besides… if you get a job with the Ministry, you'll be working for the Dark Lord within a few months anyway, though it may not be of your own free will.

Snape frowned. "Yes, but…"

Malfoy's face lit up, though it wasn't like it should have been. When Lily's face lit up, Snape recalled, she looked happy, excited. Malfoy just looked malicious, though perhaps, for him, there was no clear distinction between the two. "I know what you need," he said.

Malfoy pushed Snape off the main corridor, into a small alcove containing the bathroom entrances. He then disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Snape standing alone in confusion. A few moments later, Malfoy reappeared. He had dragged a muggle in a business suit out of the crowd, and now shoved him into the alcove even harder than he had Snape. The muggle stumbled by him, hitting the wall at the end of the nook.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man sputtered.

Malfoy ignored him, pointing his wand at the muggle's chest.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The green light lit up the hall, dancing over Malfoy's sneering face. Snape pulled himself back against the wall, trying to get away from the crackling energy. It was over as soon as it began, however. The muggle crumpled to the ground, lifeless. Snape looked at Malfoy, horrified.

"But… they'll…"

Malfoy smiled coyly. "I like to try to see how many laws I can break in a five minute period."

Snape stared. He was having a bit of difficulty believing what he was seeing. There was a cracking sound as someone apparated into the alcove. It was an Auror, though not one Snape had ever seen before. He was wearing dirty brown robes, and looked nervous, though his eyes, locked on Malfoy, showed a certain glimmer of vindication.

"Ah-hah! Lucius Malfoy! You prat, we've got you this time! For using magic in front of a muggle, and for…" he looked down. Any trace of pleasure disappeared from his face. "Oh, God… for… killing a muggle."

Malfoy smiled sedately and put his hands up, wand dangling from the right.

The Auror glanced at Snape, who hadn't drawn his wand. Apparently deciding that he had bigger things to worry about, he turned back to Malfoy.

"Good. Now, drop the wan--"

Snape was surprised by how quick on the draw Malfoy was. The Death Eater flipped his wand back up into his hand in one smooth motion, and then fluidly brought his arm around, the wand level with the brown-robed man's neck. The Auror's eyes went wide."_Stupef—_"

"_Expelliarmus_," Malfoy said softly, and the Auror's wand popped out of his hand, straight up into the air. Snape blinked as it came down towards him, and he caught it automatically.

Malfoy grinned. "Thank you, Severus. _Crucio_."

The Auror seemed to melt to the ground, screaming so loudly that Snape felt like his ear drums were going to burst. He pointed the captured wand at the exit leading out to the main corridor. "_Muffliato_," he said.

Malfoy walked in a wide circle around the Auror so that he was standing on the other side of him. He stared at his wand for a few moments, as though bored, and then aimed it once again at the sobbing wizard.

"_Crucio!_"  
Inconceivably, the screaming was actually worse this time.

"_Crucio!_"

It occurred to Snape that he wasn't actually sure what happened when you casted the Cruciatus Curse on someone repeatedly. Could it kill them? He was thankful that he wasn't going to find out. Malfoy had suddenly put his wand away.

"That will do. Let's go, Snape."

Snape's eyes went wide when Malfoy used his name in front of a Ministry official, but he headed for the exit of the nook anyway. Malfoy had to step over the downed Auror, kicking him harshly in the ribs as he did so. The pain this caused was apparently inconsequential, compared to the Cruciatus Curse. The wizard was still crying, but showed no other reaction.

Upon reaching the corridor, Malfoy pulled his wand and turned back around, aiming at the shaking Auror's back. Snape winced, ready for the worst.

"_Obliviate_," Malfoy said. The man on the floor showed no change in behavior.

Snape frowned as the two of them headed, once again, towards the exit of King's Cross. "You erased his memory? But then, why is he still in pain?"  
"I didn't erase the pain. Only our faces and names. He has no idea who we were, but he knows full well what happened to him when he tried to meddle with the affairs of a Death Eater."  
"Hmm. Is erasing their memory the Dark Lord's idea?"

Malfoy frowned, and suddenly looked rather worried. "Erm, no. I just feel it's preferable."

Snape contained a smirk. The Dark Lord had never been more powerful, yet Malfoy was still hedging his bets to make sure he'd have deniability should anything happen to change the balance of power. He supposed it had never occurred to Malfoy that he might just avoid going around killing people arbitrarily.

"So," said Malfoy, clearly trying to change the subject, "how many laws do you figure that was, Snape?

"Uhm."

"I believe it was five, assuming we only count 'use of an unforgivable curse' once."

"Ahh…"

Snape felt a little burnt out. He had certainly heard about the marked increase in muggle deaths over the past few years, and it had been obvious that the Dark Lord was responsible. However, it had never occurred to him that most of the deaths might have just been caused by unsupervised Death Eaters getting their jollies. It seemed so… amateurish, if nothing else.

"What was that spell you used? You made it so no one could hear him?"  
"Yes."

"Good thinking. I was looking forward to when some muggles came in to help him, though."

_I know_, thought Snape.

"Of course, we could disparate, but it's actually not very far, and I like a stroll among the commoners now and again, don't you, Snape?"

Snape didn't reply. It occurred to him that, in a few minutes, he would be face to face with the Dark Lord. Putting distance between himself and Lily had made him feel a bit better. The incident with the Auror was already forgotten as he thought about meeting the Dark Lord, and he considered, pleased, that it was about time.


	2. Chapter 2

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 2**_

Upon exiting King's Cross, Snape was surprised to find that the sun had almost set, the clouds having adopted the reddish hue that only comes in the hour or so before evening. Surprisingly, Malfoy' robes seemed to be attracting far less attention, now that the two of them had gotten out onto the streets of London. Snape theorized that this was due to the extraordinary ability of muggles to totally ignore anything that they perceived as a threat. Upon identifying Malfoy as a "loony" from fifty meters away, they would do anything in their power to avoid so much as glancing at him as they passed. Snape suspected that Malfoy could start transfiguring mailboxes into penguin and still get just as little notice.

Snape wondered where the Dark Lord could be dwelling within London. He expected Malfoy to lead him deep into the dirtiest, most dangerous part of the city, where perhaps they'd find the Dark Lord in a run-down old house. Snape's expectations, however, were not met. Their path seemed to be taking them, gradually, down more and more crowded streets, the lighting growing brighter with each district they passed through.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Where are we going, then?"

Malfoy turned back at him and smiled cooly. He swung his arm up, pointing at the largest building on the block. Snape blinked.

"That's a muggle hotel."

"The finest."

"The Dark Lord… is staying in a muggle hotel."

"In a manner of speaking."

Malfoy pivoted on his heel to face the hotel, robes billowing, and then marched off for it. Snape followed, deeply curious.

They were soon standing under the huge building's awning. Malfoy pushed forward through the revolving door. Snape followed after, wondering over the ability of muggles to take a perfectly serviceable piece of technology, like a door, and turn it into something complicated and unpleasant.

Upon coming through to the other side, Snape found himself face to face with a massive figure, totally cloaked in a black robe identical to Malfoy' but for its size. The figure grunted.

"Snape," said Malfoy, "Meet Goyle. Goyle, this is our new friend, Severus Snape."  
Goyle muttered something that might have passed as speech in some cultures, then stepped aside, disappearing back into the shadows. It wasn't hard to do, as the lobby was surprisingly dark. Snape looked up, and saw that the vast majority of the ornate chandeliers fixed to the ceiling had been blasted into states that made them rather difficult to identify. The largest chandelier, however, hanging over the center of the lobby, remained lit. It illuminated a massive, gurgling fountain. Two gently curving staircases began in front of the fountain on either side and gently rose around it, meeting behind the fountain and a story up, where the front desk presumably sat.

Snape stared at the fountain. There was something very off about it.

Malfoy followed his gaze, and then grinned. "It's not dye, if that's what you're wondering."

Snape was about to ask him what he meant, but then figured it out for himself. The water bubbling out of the fountain was bright red, and seemed a little… thick.

Mesmerized, Snape walked slowly toward the fountain. The red was even more vibrant upon closer inspection. Overwhelmed by his curiosity, he rolled up a sleeve of his dirty shirt and dipped his pale hand into the liquid.

It wasn't pure blood. From its feel, it had probably been water, some time ago. Before certain additions had been made.

He felt his fingers sweep against something, and closed his hand around it. It was thin and soft. He pulled up, having to exert quite a bit of effort before the object raised enough out of the water for him to identify it.

It was a Bellhop. From the outfit, the kind that only the employees of a pretentious English hotel would still actually wear, it was obvious. Snape's fingers had closed around the front of his shirt. The Bellhop's eyes were open, and his face was distorted into a horrible mask of fear and pain. He was deathly pale, though he had gained a rather reddish hue as a result of the marinade he had stewing in for so long. His exposed skin was covered with cuts. Snape expected that the unfortunate muggle had been completely drained into the fountain, though considering the overall consistency of the water, there must have been many more bodies drifting heavily beneath the surface.

Snape dropped the corpse back into the depths. It settled back in with an unsettling plunging sound, the thick water rippling only slightly before returning to a state of mirror-like stillness. Snape took out his wand and carefully cleaned the blood off his hand, which had been so drenched that it appeared as though he were wearing a red glove.

Malfoy remained silent throughout, and amused expression on his face. He looked surprised when Snape finally asked, after taking a moment to compose himself, "The Dark Lord is employing vampires, then?"

"Vampires? No, not really. Here and there, perhaps."

"But, then… why all this blood?"

"Don't be unoriginal, Snape. Why should vampires have all the fun?"

"Did you kill the entire hotel staff?"

"Certainly we did. There couldn't be more than twenty in there, though." Malfoy gestured toward the fountain. "Unfortunately, though, the bodies weighed down on the outtake vents, and the cursed thing jammed up. Took quite a few charms to get it going again."

"Where are the other bodies?"

"Oh, we just let them lay where the Death Curse put them."

"Ah, so you did use the Death Curse, then?"

"On some of them."

Snape gestured toward the fountain. "And these?"

"The Death Curse gets boring sometimes, Snape. You'll come to understand than soon enough."

"You must have killed something like fifty people, assuming there were no guests…"

A smile dancing around Malfoy' lips, not at all kind, made Snape think that this was a poor assumption. He pushed on.

"Isn't that a bit much, even for the Dark Lord? The muggles must know something is going on."

"Don't be foolish. We have all the bodies, and the building itself is charmed. Muggles can't see it, and even if they could, they wouldn't notice it."

"Then the bodies won't be found, but what about these people's families? Aren't they going to notice the disappearances?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"Well… I suppose we didn't really think of that. Heat of the moment, and all."

"Hrm."

"It doesn't matter, really."

"You've really cast a muggle-repelling charm on this building? One that muggles already know about, and are used to walking by all the time? Isn't that a bit… dangerous?"

Malfoy was starting to look irritated. "Listen, Snape, I didn't bring you here so I could justify our actions to you. If you don't approve of how the Dark Lord does things, perhaps you should just… leave."

Snape glanced over at Goyle, who was still standing near the door, and he felt rather certain that leaving hadn't been an option for quite some time.

"No," he said. "I'm… sorry. I just didn't realize how powerful the Dark Lord had become."

Malfoy clapped an arm around Snape's shoulder and began leading him up the stairway. "Always was, Snape. How powerful he always was."

The second floor of the lobby was poorly lit, for the same reason that the entrance was. The incredibly long check-in desk was deserted, save for a Death Eater laying on it down near one end, apparently asleep.

Malfoy led him to a large alcove jutting off from the lobby. Its walls were gilded, and it was lined with large elevator doors. Malfoy reached out and jabbed an "up" button.

"We were all rather surprised to find out that the muggles had elevators. They work with pulleys and such, of course."

Snape nodded absent-mindedly, watching the display above the elevator doors slowly tick down. He thought he could feel the terrible power of he Dark Lord coming from somewhere above them. Soon, he'd be bathing in that power. The knowledge felt good.

The light on the display reached the gracefully scripted "_1_", and the door slid open. Inside stood yet another Death Eater, a man of average size with his hood up. He glanced at them.

"Oh, good. I thought I might have to go out to King's Cross and find out what was holding you two up."

"We're only taking the scenic route, Travers," Malfoy said, and they stepped into the elevator. Travers prodded the button marked "_11_", and the doors slid creakily shut, the elevator rocking violently into motion.

They swayed slightly with the elevator, not speaking for several floors. Malfoy finally tried to strike up a conversation.  
"I killed that squirrelly-looking Auror."

Travers, who had been analyzing the tile pattern on the floor, looked up as though surprised. "Did you? He's been tailing you for some time, hasn't he? Idiot. Should have brought backup."

Snape blinked. The Auror had been tailing Malfoy. That explained a lot. In all the "excitement", he'd forgotten that the Ministry couldn't keep tabs on magic cast illegally by adult wizards, at least not closely enough to send an Auror to the scene just moments after the crime was committed. The Auror must have been apparating after Malfoy wherever he went, just waiting for him to do something illegal.

There was something else, too. Malfoy hadn't killed that Auror. Why was he claiming that he had? Was it possible that he was embarrassed to have shown even as little mercy as he had?

Snape remembered the fountain. If Malfoy was capable of mercy, muggles certainly weren't benefiting from it.

"…Would have just killed them, too," Malfoy was saying. Travers snorted in reply. With a shake that nearly threw Snape off his feet, the elevator stopped. The doors slid open, revealing a dark hallway that might have been attractive but for its obvious mistreatment. Torn wallpaper, shattered vases, toppled tables, and large bloodstains on the walls all suggested there had been a chase here. Snape wondered if all the floors were like this. As with the chandeliers downstairs, most of the lights in the hallways had been shattered by the Reductor curse.

The three of them walked by dozens of numbered doors. Some of them showed signs of forced entry. The one at the end of the hall, set apart from the others, clearly belonged to the largest suite on the floor. Travers reached out and swung it open. They stepped into yet another dimly lit room, what appeared to be some kind of antechamber. A weak fire sizzled in a fireplace, and several Death Eaters sat around it in massive chairs.

Travers glanced at a closed door that presumably led to another part of the suite. "He's talking to Lestrange and that little tramp right now, I think. We'd better wait." He nodded towards the group around the fire, and he, Snape, and Malfoy walked over to join them, sliding into chairs of their own.

"You're back, Malfoy," said one of the others.

"Mhmm."

"Are you going to introduce me?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

The Death Eater slid off his hood, revealing closely-cropped blonde hair. He was a large man, and looked quite intelligent. He nodded to Snape.

"Yaxley."

Snape nodded back. "Uhm. Snape."

"Pleasure to meet you." Yaxley turned back to Malfoy, and took their conversation back up where it had left off.

"You're lucky. He got pretty pissed, while you were gone."

"What about?"

"Dumbledore's up to something. Forming some kind of resistance movement. Looks like it could be a much bigger threat to us than the Ministry."

"Resistance movement? So what?"

"Well, for starters, rumor is they've got Alastor Moody."

Malfoy's face took on a stony expression. Next to Snape, Travers shuddered softly. Snape raised a brow. "Moody?" he asked.

"Yaxley nodded. "Toughest damn Auror out there. It's bad enough having to deal with Dumbledore, but Moody…"

"Did you hear what he did to Chamberlain?" asked Travers.

"God, yeah."

Yaxley noticed the blank look on Snape's face, and turned back to him. "We used to have this guy, see. Chamberlain. He was in the Ministry. Low level, sure, but he was an asset. We were hoping to get him into a pretty powerful position, and then get him doing the Imperius Curse on his bosses. Right?"

Snape nodded. Yaxley's face turned suddenly grim. "Moody found out. The bastard bursts into Chamberlain's office one day, casts _Reductus_ on everything in sight. The furniture starts going off like... like those things the muggles use in the war movies…"

"Grenades," said Travers.

"Yeah, like effin' grenades. So Chamberlain is like a goddamn pincushion, full up with pieces of his own damn desk, but he's still alive. His wand got busted, but lucky for him, he managed to fire a few curses of his own, and Moody's dropped his own wand, doesn't have time to go get it or else Chamberlain's gonna find some way to disapparate the hell out of there. So do you know what Moody does?"

Snape stared at him blankly. Yaxley pushed on.

"He grabs a goddamn table leg off the floor, and beats Chamberlain_ to death _with it."

"Huh," said Snape.

The Death Eaters sat in silence for a moment. Travers shook his head regretfully.

"The funny part is," Yaxley eventually said, "Moody actually got into trouble for it with the Ministry. Bastard does our cause more damage than all the other Aurors combined, and gets reprimanded for it! He told the Wizengamot he was just trying to knock Chamberlain out, but hit him a little too hard by mistake. Guy as big as Moody, though, I guess it's pretty tough to hit soft."

One of the Death Eaters Snape hadn't met yet shuddered in his seat. Malfoy laughed coldly.

"Don't worry, Crabbe, I'm sure that, should you encounter Moody, you'll be able to surrender long before he manages to kill you."

Travers smirked. The one called Crabbe grunted, but didn't try to defend himself.

Snape noticed Yaxley was looking at the room's inside door, and followed the man's gaze. The door had swung open, seemingly of its own accord.

"Looks like he's ready to meet you, Snape," Yaxley said.

Snape stood up. He felt the skin on his arms tingle; the goose bumps raising had nothing to do with the inadequate heat coming from the fire.

Travers got up and walked towards the door, gesturing for Snape to follow him. Malfoy came after them. Yaxley watched them with interest, as though he was wondering which of them would ever come back out of the room again.

The first thing Snape noticed after walking through the door were the cold eyes of Bellatrix Black, who was standing against the back wall next to Rodolphus. She looked positively horrified to see him. Rodolphus, on the other hand, appeared quite pleased, and winked at Snape. The room was round, and populated mostly with bookshelves lined up along the walls. Travers pushed Snape into the center of the room. Travers and Malfoy, having shut the door behind them, now both stood against the wall of the room opposite Bellatrix and Rodolphus. Snape wondered what was so dangerous about entering the little study's center.

All he had to do to find out was look up. An ornately carved mahogany desk sat to one side of the room. It was badly cluttered with books, some of them appearing to be quite ancient. One that had fallen to the floor in front of the desk had the words _"Darkest Magicks" _scrawled across its spine.

The desk and its contents, however, were mere footnotes in Snape's mind. He was much more concerned with the figure behind it. Lord Voldemort sat framed by the moonlight, which streamed in through a foggy, eight-paned window directly behind him. He was a tall man, thin, with a hard-edged face. His skin had a certain unhealthy pallor to it, though Snape didn't imagine it was any worse than his own. Voldemort's hands, spread over the opened tomes before him, were slim and long-fingered. His hair was badly thinned, growing in unhealthy looking black strands that clumped together into locks, most of them matted to his forehead. His eyes were a turbulent mix, appearing red at first glance, and yet revealing what seemed to be brown underneath that.

"Severus Snape," Voldemort said, his voice sharp and cold. Snape bowed, but feeling that it was not enough, quickly dropped to his hands and knees.

"I am not worthy, my Lord," he stuttered, and he meant it.

"No," said the Dark Lord, "But you will do. Malfoy has told me about you."

"I fear that he has exaggerated my abilities, my Lord," Snape found himself saying. He found himself very reluctant to lie to the Dark Lord.

"He told me you have brewed a perfect batch of Felix Felicis."

"Perfect, my lord, is in the eye of the beho—"

"When it comes to Felix Felicis," interrupted the cold voice, "It is either perfect, or it is trash. Do not be so quick to underestimate your abilities, Snape. Better to leave that to your enemies."

"Yes, my Lord."

"There have, Severus, been Potions Masters at Hogwarts whom could barely draft Felix Felicis, and yet you accomplished the feat before you even graduated. I'd imagine you are a better alchemist than any of my Death Eaters"

Snape felt a hot thrill shoot through him. It had as much to do with the Dark Lord using his first name as it did with the compliment he had received.

"So," The Dark Lord continued, "It is only fitting that you should become one of my Death Eaters. I have been told that this occupation is not uninteresting to you. I am sure you already realize that the only other choice is death." He said this casually, but his eyes narrowed before he spoke again, his voice even more ominous now that it had been. "I warn you, however, that it would be better for you to die a fast death now than to accept this position at my side if you are not ready for it."

Snape gazed into Voldemort's eyes. He felt incredibly sure in his desire to accept. He was as confident about it as he had ever been about nearly anything else in his life. And yet, there was still one thing about which he was surer. The Dark Lord faded into the background, and green eyes flashed before him. _"Take care of yourself, okay?"_, he remembered, and his right hand felt suddenly warm.

"_Snape!"_ came a harsh whisper from behind him, bringing him back to reality. His eyes regained focus on the pale figure behind the desk. He looked at the Dark Lord's eyes, and he wished that they could be green. He opened his mouth to speak… and he almost said "no". He almost told the Dark Lord that he would not, could not join him.

Almost.

"I wish to be a Death Eater, my Master."

"Good," Voldemort said, as though he had not noticed how long it had taken Snape to answer. "I am very confident that this will be a profitable relationship for the both of us, Severus Snape."

The Dark Lord turned his fiery gaze towards Rodolphus and Bellatrix.

"You two may go."

Bellatrix obeyed instantly, as did Rodolphus, but Snape could see the horror in Bellatrix's eyes. She had been holding out hope, no doubt, that the Dark Lord would kill Snape on the spot. Instead, Snape had gotten what was no doubt a much more flattering welcome than she had. He met her gaze as she passed him, and she shivered with rage. Travers and Malfoy followed after them, shutting the door behind.

Voldemort smiled, but it wasn't what most people think of when they imagine a smile. It wasn't like when Lily smiled. It was horrible.

And beautiful.

The cold voice rang out. "I am in the habit of giving new Death Eaters a little task to perform right away, Snape, to make sure they're up to task. Conveniently, I just happen to have something that needs doing."

Snape bowed at his waist. "Yes, my Lord."

"You will go with the younger Lestranges to Lewes, in the South. We have a few friends visiting from Europe, and I need someone to guide them up here. They are probably being followed. It will be dangerous."

"Yes, Master."

"You will find, Snape, that I needn't threaten death should my servants fail. Most missions you will be undertaking will grant certain death to failure without any need of my assistance.

"I understand."

"Yes, I'd imagine that you do. One more thing, Snape."

Snape stood, ready.

"Come forward."

He attempted to keep from shaking as he approached the Dark Lord. It was less fear than it was awe.

He had reached the desk.

"Your left arm."

Snape held it out.

"Roll up the sleeve of your… garment."

Snape did as he was instruction, revealing the exceedingly pale skin of his inner forearm.

Voldemort reached into his loose robes and pulled out a wand, long and pale, like one of his fingers. He pressed the end of it against Snape's forearm

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Snape's vision whited out. The skin on his arm burned as though flaming hot embers had been poured onto it. He could feel molten flame burning through his skin and into his bone, pitting it and hollowing it, spreading up his arm, burning away everything that was him. He screamed, and screamed. He had never felt the agony of the Cruciatus curse, but he knew that it could not be as bad as this, for nothing could be.

Suddenly, it was over. Slowly, Snape's eyes regained their focus. He looked down at his arm, where there was now present a red tattoo of a snake slithering forth from the mouth of a malicious-looking skull.

Voldemort pocketed his wand, and smiled at Snape calmly.

"Sometimes, I urgently require my servants. When such times arrive, that mark will assist in… _informing_ you of my need."

"Yes, my Lord."

"You may go. Depart with the others as soon as you can. Our guests will be expecting you."

Snape bowed again before leaving. He thought he could feel those turbulent eyes, red and brown, burning into the back of his head as he left the room, softly shutting the door behind him. As soon as he had taken a few steps from the portal, Travers walked up to him, grabbed his arm, and pulled up his sleeve.

The Death Eaters in the room cheered. Travers looked relieved, probably because, had the mark not been present, he would have been expected to duel with Snape. Malfoy looked relieved, too, no doubt also for reasons of his own personal safety.

The room had grown surprisingly loud. Rodolphus Lestrange was grinningly shaking one of Snape's hands, Bellatrix beside him trying to ignore the entire spectacle. The Death Eater Crabbe, having removed his hood to revel a chubby face with a bushy brown mustache, pumped Snape's other hand, muttering congratulations. Yaxley had thrown an arm over Snape's shoulder. It all seemed a bit far away.

_"Stay out of trouble, okay?" _Snape remembered.

He had been lying, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 3**_

It was several hours before Snape was able to slip away. Clearly loathe to have a celebration too close to the Dark Lord, the group of Death Eaters had some time ago meandered as one unit down the hall and into another suite on the far side of the building from the ominous study. Snape lost count of how many times his hand (and, in the case of some of the larger Death Eaters, the rest of his body) was shaken, accompanied by words of congratulations and advice. Travers had produced a flask of fire whisky, and it was being passed around. Snape took an obligatory sip. It tasted something like turpentine. Poorly-made turpentine. Within a few minutes, Bellatrix was showing signs of drunkenness, which Snape considered quite a feat, considered they had split just a small flask of liquor between eight people.

Eventually, it seemed like even the most loquacious of the group were running out of advice for Snape, and the gathering degenerated into several smaller conversing groups. Snape seized the opportunity to grab Rodolphus' arm and drag him out into the hall.

"The Dark Lord has ordered you, your brother, and I to go south to Lewes, to bring some 'guests' of his back up here."

Rodolphus' eyes widened. "Our own mission? Already? That's great news! I'm lucky the Dark Lord has taken such a liking to you, eh?"

"Sure. Where's your brother? We should get going."

Rodolphus frowned. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. He said to depart as soon as possible."

Rodolphus rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he meant as soon as possible _tomorrow morning_, Sev."

"If that had been what he had meant, Rodolphus, then that is what he would have sai—"

"Okay, Sev," Rodolphus cut him off, "I'll level with you. Me and Bella haven't had a chance to stay the night in the same room for a long time, and I've been kind of looking forward to tonight, if you catch my meaning.

Snape suppressed a shudder, and tried as hard as he possibly could not to understand Rodolphus' meaning.

"Be that as it may, Rodolphus," he finally brought himself to say, "The Dark Lord may be most displeased if w—"

"Look," Rodolphus interrupted again, "I'm not going anywhere tonight. You come by and get me as early as you want tomorrow morning, alright, Sev? Crack of dawn, whatever."

Snape narrowed his eyes, analyzing Rodolphus' expression. He knew it was no use. If he kept on pushing, Rodolphus wouldn't be above giving him a good-natured punch in the face as a rebuttal.

"Fine. Tomorrow morning."

"Great! Oh, and Sev, do you think you could not mention our mission to Bellatrix before then? She's pretty big on following_ his_ orders to the letter, and she might try to make me leave tonight."

Snape smirked. As much as he wanted to depart right away, it wasn't anywhere near worth having a heart-to-heart with Bellatrix.

"It is… unlikely that she and I will speak tonight," he said, carefully.

Rodolphus grinned, turning to re-enter the suite. "Great, Sev. I'll see you tomorrow."

Snape stared after him, briefly considering whether he was expected to go back in and continue being friendly. Well, not being unfriendly, anyway. He decided eventually that he had done quite enough socializing for the night, and headed towards the end of the hall. He passed by the elevator, which had sounded something like it was going to plummet into the basement and then explode the last time he had used it, and opted instead for the heavy door that led to the stairwell. The staircase on the other side was quite cramped, and spiraled as tightly as a corkscrew. He headed upwards.

He needed these people to like him. Or, at least, not dislike him. Other than Bellatrix, he did not so far particularly despise any of them. Certainly, none of them were without their certain… character flaws, but he himself was far from perfect. It was no doubt one of the things that had drawn them all together in worship of the Dark Lord.

He might well be surrounded by the people he had met tonight for the rest of his life. When Voldemort had restructured the world, it was likely that he would give the top positions to his closest followers, and now Snape was included among that number. He was surprised to find, after thinking about it for a moment, that he liked the idea. Granted, he could not claim to be the mirror-image of anyone he had met tonight, but he felt like he could learn to fit in with these people.

Breathing heavily as he reached a landing, he glanced at the number on the door. Seventeen. He decided he had probably gone sufficiently far to be sure that he wouldn't be in the room next to, or even on the same floor as, Bellatrix and Rodolphus. He didn't want to find out what passed for intimacy between those two.

He walked down the hall of floor seventeen. Many of the lights were still intact. It looked like there had not been much of a struggle here.

He rounded a bend, and immediately almost tripped on something blocking his path. He glanced down.

There had been at least one struggle on this floor. A chambermaid lay beneath him, sprawled on her stomach, head bizarrely pressed against the wall. She had probably been fleeing, and had been hit in the back by a curse just as she rounded the corner. Inertia had carried her corpse around the bend and into the wall.

He wondered who had killed her. _No_, he corrected himself. He wondered who had killed _it_. He was going to have to get used to this kind of thing. He couldn't identify with every corpse he came across, or he'd be making a lot of new friends in the coming weeks.

He turned back, picked a room at random, and pushed through the door.

They were just mudbloods. They deserved it.

Most of them.

The room was neatly appointed. It was probably one of the smallest that the hotel offered, though its bed was still more than twice the size of anything that Snape had ever slept in. Not having anything to change into, he climbed straight into bed, waving his wand at the light switch to make the room go dark. He shut his eyes.

He lay awake for some time. His mind was still racing, and it constantly tried to lead him back to that fateful meeting at the train station, before he had left Platform 9 ¾. He knew he would never be able to sleep if he started thinking about that. It might well keep him up for weeks. He fought for something else to focus on, but none of his usual fallbacks, most of them potions recipes or spell techniques, seemed to be working. Suddenly, he remembered meeting the Dark Lord. It had been, amazingly, only a few hours ago. He imagined those stormy red eyes. He felt the warmth of belonging; he felt the chill of horrified awe. It was not long before he was asleep.

Snape awoke with the sun, grabbing his wand off the nightstand and heading towards the stairwell. He was about to push the door open, but he heard the elevator rumbling somewhere above him. Someone was taking it down. Might as well go with them…

He punched the down button. Moments later, the doors slid open, revealing Yaxley, the blonde Death Eater that Snape had met the night before. Predictably garbed in black robes, Yaxley was sipping from a mug of coffee. He raised his eyebrows as the door opened.

"Snape! You're up early."

"As are you," Snape said, stepping inside.

"Things to do, things to do. Most of the others won't make an appearance until noon. Someone has to get some business done around here."

The doors slid shut, and the elevator rumbled back to life. They stood together in silence, punctuated by an occasional sip from Yaxley.

Snape struggled to think of small talk, but failed to come up with anything.

"Do you know where Rodolphus is?" he asked instead.

Yaxley smirked. "Yes, and so would you, if you'd slept on the eighth floor last night. Room 812."

Snape nodded, leaning forward to push the "_8_" button.

"Actually," Yaxley said, "You'll need to come with me for a minute before you can get going."

Snape opened his mouth to argue, once again, that he should leave as soon as possible. However, before he had gotten a word out, the door slid open on the tenth floor. Yaxley strode out of the elevator, gesturing for Snape to follow. Snape sighed, but did so.

"We've had your trunk brought here. I'll get it up to your room some time today. Which one are you staying in?"

"1707."

"Fair enough. And if you'll kindly come this way…"

Snape followed Yaxley into room 1003. They stood in the antechamber of a suite very similar to the one Snape had met Voldemort in the night before.

Yaxley marched through another door, leaving Snape behind. Snape could hear him rummaging around in another room.

"About what size robe do you wear?" Yaxley's voice enquired.

"Uhm," Snape said, but Yaxley had tossed a black robe at him before he could say anything else.

"That should fit. Go on, let's see."

Snape pulled the robe on, and it fit just as well as his school ones had. It was black, billowing, and hooded. He slid his wand into its pocket.

"Good, good," Yaxley said, and left the suite as quickly as they had come in. Snape followed him out, but Yaxley, who was already walking down the hall, waved him away.

"That's all I wanted. Your trunk will be in your room by later today. I'll have one of those wretched elves do it. Have you got a house elf, by the way?"

"No."

"Too bad, we've only got a couple, and they're getting worked to death," Yaxley said brightly. "Anyway, I suppose I'll see you later."

Snape watched him leave. There were several corpses sprawled out further down the hallway, and Yaxley stepped on several of them, seeming not to notice.

It wasn't long before Snape, two floors down, was rapping at the portal of Room 812. Eventually, a sleepy-looking Rodolphus cracked the door open. He was shirtless, and Snape was careful not to look down to check whether or not he was wearing anything else.

"God, Sev, you took that whole 'crack of dawn' thing pretty damn seriously, I see. Just a sec."

The door shut again. Snape waited, leaning against the wall. Inside, he heard Bellatrix complaining about Rodolphus having to leave, and then complaining even more when she found out that he had put off a mission from the Dark Lord until morning. Snape wondered whether she was actually just jealous that she hadn't been ordered to go along. Rodolphus emerged from the room, dressed in black robes identical to Snape's. He flashed Snape a sheepish grin.

"Told you she'd be like that, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, let's go, then. Nice robes."

Snape smirked. "Ditto."

Rodolphus took a few steps down the hall, then banged on another door.

"Oye! Rabastan! Let's go!"

Almost immediately, the door opened, and a smallish figure slithered out. Rodolphus nodded to Snape. "Rabastan, this is Severus Snape. Snape, this is my brother Rabastan."

Snape accepted Rabastan's limp handshake. He wasn't sure if Rabastan Lestrange was older than Rodolphus, or if he was younger, and had just been thrown out of school early. He was skinnier, shorter, and much less confident-looking than Rodolphus, but there was a clear resemblance between the two in their sharp facial features and hard, dark eyes.

"Alright, then," said Rodolphus, "It's a party."

"I'll see you both in Lewes," Snape said, and spun on the spot. The brothers, as well as the hallway, disappeared.

The next thing he knew, he was standing on the wooden planks of a pier, looking out over the English Channel. Rodolphus and Rabastan stood behind him. Rodolphus grinned. "Hey, not bad. That's the farthest I've ever apparated."

"Yes, me too," sad Snape. "No one is splinched?"

The Lestranges checked themselves over quickly. It turned out that they had all done a respectable job of apparating, and soon they were striding up the pier, which led out into a large dock area. They could hear significant activity nearby, but the place they were in seemed deserted. The cold concrete underfoot and huge stacks of crates all around suggested they were in an outdoor cargo storage facility of some kind.

"So, Sev, where are they going to be?"

Snape frowned. "The Dark Lord didn't specify."

"Didn't specify? They could be anywhere in the city!"

"Would you have asked him for more information, if you had been me?"

Rodolphus considered this. "Alright, good point," he said eventually.

The three of them looked around, at a loss as to how to proceed.

"Well, what do you think?" Rodolphus asked, finally.

"Let's check the hotels," Snape suggested, starting off down an aisle of crates, the other two following. "I doubt they sat out here in the docks all ni—"

They rounded a corner, and there sat two men, clearly dressed as wizards, on a stack of crates. Both wore nondescript grey robes that looked heavily padded for cold weather.

The man on the right was tall, thin, and had wavy black hair down to his shoulders. He looked nervous, and a cigarette was clutched between the index and middle fingers of his right hand.

The leftmost man's black hair had been buzzed short, and he had an equally trim goatee and mustache. The rest of his face was finely stubbled. In contrast to his companion, he looked bored, but quite calm.He raised a brow when the three black-robed figures emerged from around the bend.

"You are the Death Eaters, yes?" he asked, his accent thick.

Rodolphus leaned over to Snape. "Uhm, I don't suppose there's a password?"

"No," said Snape, wishing there had been.

"Well…" Rodolphus said, thoughtfully, "I guess we might as well trust these guys. The Dark Lord can sort 'em out if they're not who he was expecting."

That seemed to make sense. Snape turned back to the pair and started to say something, but Rodolphus had already stridden forward, hand extended.

"Gentlemen, in the name of the Dark Lord, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Rodolphus Lestrange. The taller man behind me is Severus Snape; the shorter, my brother Rabastan."

The calmer of the two strangers strode forward and shook Rodolphus' hand. He had watched them bemusedly during their whispered conversation, and now spoke again in his cool voice.

"I am Antonin Dolohov. My companion is Igor Karkaroff. It is nice to be meeting you. We are… excited to be meeting Lord Vold--"

Karkaroff hissed in warning behind him. Dolohov rolled his eyes.

"The Dark Lord," he finished.

Greetings were exchanged all around. "You are sure no Aurors followed?" Karkaroff asked Snape as they shook hands.

"We are quite sure," Snape reassured him, and Karkaroff seemed to calm down slightly.

Looking over Karkaroff's shoulder, Snape noticed several pairs of feet sticking out from behind the crates Dolohov and Karkaroff had been sitting on. Karkaroff noticed where he was looking.

"Was not me!" he insisted, "Was Dolohov!"

Dolohov, who had apparently overheard, laughed coldly. "These Englishmen kept asking us to see IDs, said we were not allowed here. I was disagreeing."

"Hrm," Snape said.

"Well," said Rodolphus, "Fair enough, but let's get the hell out of here before someone comes looking for them."

"Good," said Dolohov. "We can both do the apparating. Where to are we going?"

"To Azkaban, I expect," said a cold voice from behind them.

All five of them turned around in shock. Standing on a wooden pier similar to the one they had apparated in on stood a thick, heavily scarred man. His large, calloused face was framed in wavy brown hair that was just beginning to turn gray. A belt strapped diagonally across his chest seemed to hold several different kinds of potions, an assortment of portable sneakoscopes, and a few other gadgets that Snape didn't recognize. His large hand held aloft a thick, dark wand. Behind him stood two other men, each of them smaller and less conspicuous, but no less dangerous-looking. They also had their wands raised. One of them grinned.

"Not bad, eh, Alastor? Just a few days getting our information from the Order instead of the Ministry, and we've already got us five Death Eaters."

"Not yet, we don't," the big one growled.

"Christ," hissed Rodolphus, "It's Moody."

Rodolphus attempted to bring up his wand, the rest of them doing likewise, but they were all much too slow.

"_Repulso_!" Moody yelled, and Rabastan, who had been just about to fire a curse, was thrown off his feet and into a stack of crates behind them.

Snape threw himself low as stunning spells and petrification curses flew towards him. He saw Dolohov firing jinxes back at the Aurors from behind cover.

"_Accio _crates!" He heard Moody growl. _Oh, no_, Snape thought, and with a great rumbling sound, the wall of crates behind the Death Eaters came crashing down on top of them. Something hard hit Snape on the head, and stars shot before his eyes.

"_Crucio_!" He heard Rodolphus yell, and immediately afterwards, horrible screams of pain filled the air.

Snape stood, and, quickly as he could, brought his wand to bear on an Auror.

"_Stupe_—"the Auror began.

"_Levicorpus_!" Snape yelled, and jerked his wand up. The Auror flew into the air as though on an invisible tether. "_Repulso_!" Snape added, and the floating man went flying quite a ways further down the peer, landing hard.

Snape spun just in time to see Moody bringing his want to bear on him. There wasn't any time to react. Luckily, he didn't have to.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" shouted Rodolphus, and a green bolt of light shot at Moody. The large Auror skillfully leapt out of the way. Snape's eyes widened. For a big man, Moody was surprisingly agile. Unfortunately for Moody, he had been forced to jump between Dolohov and the third Auror, and a friendly petrification curse hit him dead on in the back of the neck.

Instantly, Moody's arms clapped to his sides. His eyes were full of rage as his rigid, unsteady body toppled slowly backward off the dock. Something bright hit him while he was in midair, and a transparent bubble appeared around his head seconds before he disappeared into the inky water. Snape realized that the other Auror had hit Moody with a Bubblehead Charm.

Said Auror had since jumped behind cover, and was now blasting stunning spells at the lot of them. Rodolphus hauled Rabastan up out of his tomb of crates, and the brothers began returning fire on the Auror.

Dolohov clapped Snape on the shoulder. "'_Levicorpus_'? This spell I have never before been seeing."

"It's my spell," Snape said, confused as to why this was relevant. "I created it."

Dolohov looked elated. "Did you! It is rare to meet someone in these days that makes own spells! It is really best part of being wizard, do you not think so? I got tired of

Cruciatus Curse when I was twelve year old! Is so boring to use what everyone else uses, no? So unoriginal. Where is creativity?"

Snape nodded absent-mindedly, still focused on the Auror blasting spells at them, and glancing nervously at the water's edge.

"Here," said Dolohov, "I show you one of mine."

Dolohov pointed his wand at the Auror's cover and cast the Reductor curse, shattering it. Apparently expecting this, the Auror charged through the wreckage, coming straight at them. He bowled over Rodolphus, forcing Rabastan to leap aside for cover. The sprinting Auror was less than ten feet from Snape, wand raised, when Dolohov cast his curse.

It was nonverbal, but distinctive enough. Purple fire blazed out from the tip of Dolohov's wand. It hit the Auror full on in the chest, and he stopped in his tracks, dropping his wand. His face took on a disturbing pallor. He began stumbling towards Snape again, clearly on the verge of collapse. Snape tried to back away, but after a single step his back came up against a wall of crates. The Auror grabbed the front of Snape's robes in his hands, clenching at them with all his remaining strength. Then his mouth slacked open, and a sheet of blood gushed out.

The Auror collapsed; his head bumped against Snape's chest, and he slid the rest of the way down to the ground, no longer breathing. Snape, his robes stained scarlet, stared down in horror.

Dolohov, inconceivably, was laughing. "I have never seen it take so long to bring someone down before, when it hit them full force! You Englishmen are tougher then I thought!"

Snape didn't respond. Rodolphus and Rabastan had rejoined them, both brothers rubbing their heads in pain.

"Moody's taken care of?" Rabastan asked nervously.

"He'll be trapped underwater until someone comes to get him out. If we just go take care of that Auror Snape tossed down the pier, then Moody might just starve to death down there," Rodolphus said happily.

"Unless Moody manages a nonverbal counter-curse," Snape said, quietly, "And then comes back up here to kill all of us."

Rodolphus turned pale. "Jesus," he said. "We have what we came for. Let's just get the hell out of here."

Karkaroff had reappeared, and stalked over to them, looking at the ground. Rodolphus glared at him, but remained silent. Snape told Dolohov and Karkaroff where they were headed, and within moments, the docks were deserted once again.

Back in the lobby of the hotel, the five of them collapsed tiredly into a circle of chairs near the sign-in desk. For a few minutes, they sat in silent consideration. Karkaroff eventually excused himself to go to the bathroom. Rodolphus glowered after him.

"He is here less out of revere for Dark Arts and more to hide from authorities," Dolohov said, not even bothering to wait for Karkaroff to get out of ear shot. "He is wanted for petty crimes by Ministry in our country. Nothing big. Not even half of what I have done in past twenty-four hours." He sounded very proud about this. "Is coward, though, and will do as your Dark Lord tells him. He will be good Death Eater."

Rodolphus shrugged, but seemed satisfied. Suddenly, he seemed to think of something that had only just occurred to him. "Hey," he asked no one in particular, "whatever happened to Avery?"

"Oh," said Rabastan, "He got here before you and Bellatrix did. The Dark Lord sent him off right away to Liverpool. He's there helping out his dad and our dad."

"Oh, hrm," Rodolphus said. "Say, what do you guys think of Bellatrix, anyway? You both like her, right? I was thinking, pretty soon I'm probably gonna want to ask her to…"

He glanced around nervously, looking quite like Rabastan for a minute, and seemed to change his mind about whatever he was going to say. "Anyway, do you guys like her?"

Snape rolled his eyes. He wondered whether Rodolphus' failure to realize that he and Bellatrix hated each other was due to sheer denial or just downright stupidity. Either way, Rabastan could deal with this particularly loaded question on his own. Snape quickly got up and excused himself, acting as though he had a need to use the bathroom that was rather urgent.

He passed Karkaroff on the way, and they nodded to each other. Snape felt some sympathy for Karkaroff. These were hard people to get used to being around. He glanced down at the bloodied front of his robes.

"Snape!" came a cool voice, and he glanced back. Dolohov had followed him.

"_Levicorpus_, eh, Snape?" he grinned. "That is classic! Next battle, you show me another of your spells, and I will show you other of mine!"

Snape gave a weak smile, but it quickly disappeared as he turned away.


	4. Chapter 4

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 4**_

Six months had passed since that fateful evening when Snape had first come face to face with the Dark Lord. In truth, it had been something of an uneventful period. After his first assignment, Snape had wondered if every day as a Death Eater was going to be quite so action-packed; if so, he didn't have very high hopes for his life-expectancy. However, he had not come up against Moody again; in fact, Snape hadn't come into contact with any Aurors. Though he suspected that the Order of the Phoenix and maybe even those fools at the Ministry knew full well where the Dark Lord was staying, neither organization was quite stupid enough to think that there was anything they could do about it. Even the Order didn't have the kind of power to try barging in; not with the number of Death Eaters and other hangers-on that the place had accumulated.

Snape was forced to admit feelings of disappointment that he had not been playing a more active role in the organization lately. Then again, none of the newer recruits seemed to be getting much field time. Granted, they had all been sent out to deliver the occasional parcel, or to stand guard during a mission here and there, but not much else had occurred. Sometimes, though, late at night, Snape would see Yaxley, Travers, or Malfoy leave the hotel. They might return five minutes later; they might not be seen again for several hours. When they did come back, though, their robes were often torn, and sometimes even bloodier than Snape's had been the night he had witnessed firsthand the lethality of Dolohov's spells.

Tonight was no exception to the recent span of boredom. Most of the Death Eaters that Snape knew by name were situated in a large parlor room on the second floor; they tended to group together in one place, despite how large the building was. Snape suspected that the dark, drafty hallways of the hotel at night inspired fear in some of the Death Eaters, making them avoid being alone. It was ironic, in a way.

Snape glanced at the chess board in front of him, and grimaced. Rodolphus had been absolutely terrible at chess six months ago, but he was nearing moderate proficiency, these days. Snape was actually going to lose a couple of pieces tonight, from the look of it. He tapped his Bishop deftly with his ring finger, ordering it to approach one of Rodolphus' pawns and smash it to rubble with its staff.

Bellatrix Black sat on the arm of Rodolphus' easy chair. Snape was fairly confident that she couldn't possibly have looked more bored than she did right then. She was the only female Death Eater in the hotel, and she had been failing to get along with all the others quite famously. Anyone who didn't take an instant disliking to her soon grew to hate her and her tendency to mock them in her high, shrill voice. The Dark Lord, however, put up with her (the reason he did so remained beyond Snape's grasp), and so to, then, did everyone else.

Rabastan Lestrange sat in a third chair, watching. Snape had actually been driven by pity on numerous occasions to ask Rabastan if he'd like to play a game of chess, but the skinny, nervous man always refused. Snape wondered if Rabastan had chosen his position in life, or if years of being overshadowed by his brother had simply warped him into the type to skulk in the shadows without speaking.

Reclining not far away, Yaxley was smoking a cigar, his feet up on the table. It wasn't surprising that he needed some relaxation; Snape wasn't sure when the man found time to sleep, with the amount of work he did. Dolohov sat across from him, legs crossed, chin held in his hand. The two men were locked deeply in conversation. Snape couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but he heard the words "disembowelment" and "impale" come up several times.

There was a bar at the far side of the parlor, and there sat Travers and Karkaroff, apparently having an unspoken contest to see who had built up the higher alcohol tolerance. Crabbe was in an easy chair nearby, gesturing frantically with a tumbler of fire whisky to Jugson, a large and profoundly stupid Death Eater that Snape had been introduced to about a month ago. Jugson was nodding moronically to everything Crabbe had to say, which, so far as Snape could tell, was mostly about the economy. It sounded like gibberish to him; this wasn't because he was not up-to-snuff in matters of economics; it was because Crabbe was, apparently, just making it up as he went along.

Goyle was not present; it was safe to assume that he was downstairs, ominously standing guard at the front door. Rodolphus had been making sport lately of trying to get Goyle to utter a complete sentence. He usually did this by asking the large man a complicated question, but so far, the most he'd gotten in response was a complex series of grunts.

This kind of night was not unusual; it was the same as every other night, really. The hands of the clock were reaching the point where the Death Eaters usually started retiring to their private quarters. Some of them, like Crabbe, would immediately go to sleep. Snape had heard some of the others, however, stay awake long into the night. They'd read selections from the Dark Lord's vast library, or else test their curses on unfortunate rats and cockroaches, which had been becoming more and more prevalent as the hotel began to fall into disrepair (though, interestingly, the vermin seemed to totally avoid the eleventh floor). Dolohov seemed to have become nocturnal. Snape often heard him stalking the halls late at night, but he was nowhere to be seen during the day.

Snape expected that, soon, one of the older Death Eaters might slip towards the exit, pulling up his hood, ready for one of those mysterious night expeditions. What actually happened was quite a bit different. The door of the parlor creaked open, causing everyone to look up. There, framed in the total blackness of the unlit hallway behind him, stood the Dark Lord. Snape had caught only a few glimpses of him since that fateful meeting so long ago, but now was able to take in an eyeful. The Dark Lord looked less human than ever. He had lost yet more hair, and his eyes seemed to glow red through the darkness. The black robes he had donned had more blood on them than Snape felt a single enemy could have contained.

Bellatrix, shock and fear painted all over her face, jumped off the arm of the chair and headed at a run for the Dark Lord. She kicked Rodolphus fairly hard in the stomach in the process of bounding away, and he stared after her in disbelief.

Yaxley had dropped his cigar and burst out of his chair, running to the Dark Lord, though with slightly more dignity than Bellatrix.

"Master! Are you alright?"

Voldemort snickered. "Fine, Yaxley, though I would have been saved a great deal of trouble if you had been good enough to tell me Bones' wife and children were going to be present. I'm fine, Black, stop that."

He lightly slapped Bellatrix, who was trying to inspect him for wounds while bowing before him at the same time. Chastised, she skulked back into the shadows.

Yaxley look shocked. "Sir, I was certain they weren't going to be there tonight…"

"Perhaps you would like to go back there yourself, and check the bodies?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"It is of little consequence. The children were poorly trained, and the wife was far too busy crying over their bodies to be of much worth in a fight. Bones himself faired rather impressively, though."

Yaxley glanced at the blood covering the Dark Lord's robes. "Until you, er…"

Voldemort glanced down at the blood as though he had not noticed it before. "Oh, yes, I tried something new. It's rather messy for my taste, though."

"I suppose there's a reason the Death Curse is a classic, sir," Yaxley said brightly. Voldemort ignored him, taking out his wand and flicking it gently in no particular direction. His robes became clean instantly. Snape blinked. He wasn't even sure how that spell had worked.

"Bring me Mulciber," the Dark Lord instructed. Snape had never heard the name before, but Yaxley had gone quite pale.

"Sir… erm…"

"Spit it out, Yaxley."

"Mulciber is… missing. I would have sent someone after him, but I didn't realize that you were going to be needing his services tonight…"

Snape expected an outburst, but it never came. In fact, the Dark Lord showed no reaction at all. All he did was lock eyes with Yaxley, and say, quite gently, "Then, find him."

The Dark Lord disappeared without a sound, leaving Yaxley staring into the empty air where he had been. The Death Eater didn't move for some time.

"Yax?" called out a slightly drunk Travers, after about thirty seconds of silence. That seemed to do it. Yaxley spun around, and began jabbing his finger at individual Death Eaters.

"You! You! You! Go get Malfoy, and tell him you need to find Mulciber immediately! He'll know where to look."

Snape, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix sprang up and headed for the door.

"Quickly, Goddammit, quickly!" Yaxley roared, and, anxious to get out of there, the trio apparated up several levels to Lucius Malfoy's room. Snape knocked on the door, and, immediately, the sound of a brief commotion came from inside. When Malfoy eventually appeared, he was a bit disheveled. Looking over Malfoy's shoulder, Snape could see a very attractive blonde girl sitting on his bed. Her hair was quite ruffled, and her black robes were strangely bunched, almost as though she had just pulled them on.

Malfoy followed his gaze. "Erm, that'd be Narcissa Black, she was just initiated this morning. I was just… we were…"

"Narcissa!" Bellatrix screeched before Malfoy could continue, and pushed past him into the room. "Why didn't you tell me you were joining? And what the hell are you doing in this pretty-boy's quarters?"

Narcissa stood up and stepped forward. She resembled Bellatrix, but her hair was as pale blonde as her sister's was black, and her features were slightly softer. She was currently blushing quite profusely.

"Lucius and I have been seeing each other for some time, Bella," She said curtly, "And as for my joining the Dark Lord, I did not think it was any of your business."

Rodolphus, meanwhile, winked at Lucius. "Way to go," he mouthed. Lucius rolled his eyes. "Would you three morons mind telling me what you want?" he asked.

"We need you to help us find Mulciber," Snape said quickly.

"Yes!" Bellatrix whined, "And it's urgent! This mission is from the Dark Lord himself, so don't you dare do anything to hold us up!"

Malfoy frowned. "Mulciber? Dammit. Who knows where he is…"

"Well," Rodolphus asked, "Where should we start? Do you think the Order might be holding him hostage?"

Malfoy smirked. "You know, I rather doubt it. What time is it?"

Snape thought for a second. "About four in the morning."

"Hrm," said Malfoy. "Actually, I believe I know where he is. Greenwich Park. Shall we?"

Snape saw a few of the figures standing in the doorway pop out of existence before he himself had turned on his heel and disapparated.

They were now standing in a huge park. Snape imagined it might have been quite green in the spring time, but for now, a fresh coat of snow covered every surface, the trees were bare, and it was still the darkest portion of the night. Overall, he doubted that he would end up with the same impression of Greenwich Park that most visitors got. A large observatory on a hill was visible not far off.

"This is the place," Lucius said. "Split up. We will meet back at the observatory in twenty minutes. Bring him with you, if you find him."

"How will we—" Snape began.

"You'll know," Malfoy said.

Snape began following Bellatrix and Rodolphus, headed south. The moment Malfoy and Narcissa were out of sight, Rodolphus wrapped his arms around Bellatrix and tried to kiss her, but she pushed him roughly aside.

"Stop fooling around, Rodolphus! The Dark Lord is counting on us!"

Rodolphus stared blankly after her. Snape thought he saw hurt in those hard eyes, but couldn't be sure, as Rodolphus quickly turned away from him, following after Bellatrix.

Snape split off on his own. He walked for what felt like quite a long time, his boots making loud crunching sounds in the snow. He had yet to see another soul. He was beginning to consider giving up and heading for the observatory when he detected movement behind a high wall of shrubs. Snape sprinted to the end and rounded the row of bushes, wand raised.

It was Narcissa Malfoy, her own wand at the ready. "Oh," she said, looking disappointing. "Uhm…"

"Severus Snape," Snape said.

"Oh, yes," Narcissa said. "Lucius has told me about you. He doesn't mind you. That's rare, you know."

"Erm," Snape said. "I'm… flattered."

"Any luck?" she asked.

"No."

"Me, neither… I suppose we should head for the observatory, then."

He shrugged, and the two of them set off together. As they crested a hill, the observatory came once again into view. However, between them and their destination sat several benches. These would not have been worth noting if one of them had not been playing host to two squirrels who, so far as Snape could tell, were boxing.

Snape closed his eyes, held them shut, and the reopened them. He was surprised to find that he could still see the squirrels having at it. The look on Narcissa's face suggested that she was watching the same scene.

Snape was plodding closer for a better look when he noticed a figure sitting on a bench nearby. It was a short man, dark-haired, with round-lensed glasses perched on his nose. He wore Muggle clothing; slacks and a white shirt, with a grey sweater-vest over that. What very well might have been black robes were folded up neatly on the seat beside him. Like Narcissa, he was watching the squirrels.

Snape patted Narcissa on the shoulder. When she looked up, she got an eyeful of the odd man, and became suddenly much less interested in the squirrels. The two of them carefully approached the occupied bench.

Even when they had gotten to just a few feet from him, the man hadn't looked up. Eventually, Snape cleared his throat.

"It looks impressive, yes," said the odd man, abruptly, in a strangely soft voice, "but it's a lot of work for the imperator. They don't have any instinct to behave this way. I have to reduce them to mere rag dolls, control their every action, to get them to do something like this."

"You're controlling the squirrels," Narcissa said, fascinated.

"You need to come with us," Snape said. "The Dark Lord requires you."

"Does he?" asked Mulciber, still watching the squirrels intently. "Excellent, excellent."

The squirrels stopped what they were doing. Snape expected them to shake their heads confusedly and then run off into the trees, but that didn't happen. One of them, indeed, took on the motions of a confused animal. The other, still seemingly calm, grabbed its counterpart with its paws and bit hard into its neck. Its incisors seemed to have hit its opponent's jugular, as the blood flow was extensive. The wounded squirrel toppled off the bench, and lay twitching in the red snow.

The second squirrel, still totally relaxed, took a generous bite out of its own forepaw, releasing a fresh spray of blood. It began tearing strips of meat off itself. Snape, staring hypnotized, was brought back to reality by the sound of Mulciber's soft giggling.

Narcissa, next to Snape, was watching the entire affair with a look of some interest. Snape suppressed a shudder. "We need to go _now_," he told Mulciber.

"Oh… yes, then. Fine, fine," Mulciber said. The squirrel stopped biting itself, and for a moment, Snape thought it might live through its experience. He was disheartened when, instead, it somehow managed to scamper to and up a nearby tree, leaving a trail of blood behind it. It climbed to the tallest branch of the massive Chestnut—and then it simply let go, falling at least thirty meters. It hit the snowy ground with an unsettling "thump". It did not move afterwards.

"Like to have them bite each other at the same time, but it's hard to coordinate, hard to coordinate. Next time." Mulciber was saying in his disconcertingly soft voice.

Snape tried to think of something else as the three of them walked towards the observatory in silence. When they reached it, Malfoy looked shocked to see Mulciber with them.

"Thank God, I thought perhaps he wasn't here… Mulciber, dammit, I told you to inform me whenever you went out!"

"But I left you a note, Lucius," Mulciber said, pulling on his robe.

"Yes, and kindly failed to mention where you were headed. 'I am going out for a bit' is not acceptable, do you understand? Back to the hotel, everyone."

Instants later, they were all six of them back in the parlor they had been sitting in not an hour ago. Yaxley, who had apparently been pacing in front of the fire, looked immensely relieved to see them.

"Good, good!" he exclaimed. "Now, the six of you go to, erm, 1749 Kingstone, I think, and recruit Augustus Rookwood."

"Ah," Lucius nodded. "Fair enough. And if he won't agree?"

"What the hell do you think we had you get Mulciber for?"

"Ah."

For the fourth time that night, Snape apparated. He found himself in a residential district of London, large houses lining the narrow streets. Malfoy glanced at an address written on the front of a house. "This is the one. Let's go."

Malfoy pulled up his hood, and the five others did likewise. They stalked up the narrow drive, grouping in a mass of black around the door. Malfoy grabbed hold of the knocker and rapped three times. Through the foggy windows mounted around the door, they saw a light come on at the top of the stairs, and could now hear someone coming down.

The door swung open, and a man dressed in Muggle pajamas peered at them, a very confused expression on his face. His wife was watching from the top of the stairs. Malfoy paused for a second, apparently taken aback.

"You're not Rookwood."

"Erm… no, he's next door… 1747…"

"Thank you. _Avada Kedavra."_

Snape hadn't even seen Malfoy point his wand, but the Muggle was dead in an instant. The curse had thrown the body back out of the doorway, onto the stairs. His wife came running down towards him, crying out in disbelief.

The hooded Malfoy cocked his head at the wife, then reached behind him and pulled another of the Death Eaters forward.

"Your turn, darling. Try it out."

"Alright…" said Narcissa Black. She shakily raised her wand arm at the crying Muggle woman. Malfoy reached out and gently grasped her wrist, steadying it.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" Narcissa cried.

Stricken by green light, the Muggle woman toppled, dead, on top of her husband.

Narcissa shivered slightly, and Malfoy leaned in, kissing her. Snape heard Rodolphus snicker.

"What a bunch of prats," Bellatrix whispered into Rodolphus' ear. "The Death Curse is so boring, isn't it?"

"Yeah, babe," he whispered back.

Mulciber remained silent. Snape was thankful for this.

Shutting the door quietly behind them, the six cloaked Death Eaters headed, this time, for the correct house. Malfoy knocked again, and the man who answered was dressed in sleeping robes, with brown hair that probably would have been neatly combed if he hadn't just gotten out of bed. All around, he looked like an average salary man, though Snape thought he could detect a little something extra behind those blue eyes. Malfoy pushed by the man and into the house; the others followed.

"Wha—what is the meaning of this!?" demanded the man who Snape could only assume was Augustus Rookwood.

Before answering, Malfoy took out his wand. "_Lumos_," he said, and the dark hallway was illuminated. Satisfied, he turned to face the home's owner.

"Come now, Rookwood. An old Slytherin like you, working for the Ministry at a time like this? It's positively a scandal."

"A scandal," Rodolphus confirmed.

"The time has come to do your duty, and serve the Dark Lord," Malfoy continued.

"And what if I don't?" Rookwood asked defiantly.

Malfoy jabbed his hooded head upwards. "I believe you have a family asleep up there, isn't that correct?"

Rookwood, to Snape's surprise, laughed. "Yeah, right, Malfoy. I'm not a goddamn simpleton. You think I'm going to trade my ass to the Aurors to save my _family_?"

"I suppose I should have known you'd consider them expendable, though there is always what we'll do to _you_. But, be reasonable. The Aurors aren't going to catch you.

Rookwood snorted. "Yeah, I'll bet that's what you told Chamberlain, eh?"

"That was a long time ago. A lot has changed."

"Not as much as you think."

"Nevertheless, you've a decision to make, Rookwood. Join us, and perhaps get killed by Aurors, or refuse, and, well… let's just say you won't approve of the outcome."

Rookwood looked as though he was about to retort, but then shook his head and sighed. "You've got me, I think. Hell, I've been half-considering joining up for years anyway. You're just making me an offer I can't refuse, eh?"

"It's really to your benefit, Rookwood. The Aurors will not get you. A year from now, I should think there won't even _be_ Aurors anymore."

"Hrm," Rookwood said. "I guess you're probably right there. Fine. I'll come by tomorrow night to get my instructions from the Dark Lord. I'd imagine I won't be getting a, erm…" he tapped his left forearm.

"Yes, hardly seems appropriate for a spy to have Dark Mark. And I'm sure he won't mind waiting until tomorrow to see you," Malfoy said. "But start harvesting sources in the Ministry immediately. And remember, you went to school with several of our number, so we know just how good you are at getting others to do your dirty work for you."

"Sure, sure," Rookwood said, sounding a little flattered. "But what about when that's not good enough? I'm not so good with the Imperius Curse…"

Malfoy laughed. "Don't worry. That's what Mulciber here is for." He patted Mulciber on his short shoulder.

Rookwood shuddered. "That's Mulciber under there? Jesus. And you brought him here with you…"

"Just in case," Malfoy said.

"Jesus Christ. I guess I chose right."

"You certainly did."

"Fine, I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy. Now get the hell out of my house before you wake up my idiot wife."

"You should write greeting cards, Rookwood, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Cute."

Malfoy turned to leave, but stopped and spun back around before anyone else had begun to follow.

"Oh… Rookwood? We killed your next-door neighbors."

"What!?"

"The old couple next door. They're dead."

"Jim and Nancy? What the hell did you do that for?"

"We had the wrong address."

"Well, you should have charmed their damn memories, you idiots! Did you leave a Dark Mark?"

"No, no, of course no—"

"Arrgh! Fool!"

Rookwood stepped quickly forward and grabbed Malfoy's wand, then pushed through the Death Eaters and out the front door. They were all so surprised, no one thought to stop him. They filed out the door onto the front lawn, just in time to see Rookwood point the wand at a patch of sky over the house next door.

"_Morsmordre_!"

Like fireworks, sparkling green lights flashed in the air over the now technically unoccupied house. Rippling in ethereal flame, a snake slithering forth from the mouth of a skull now hung over the dwelling. It was identical to the mark on Snape's arm.

Malfoy looked to be at a loss, having clearly lost control of the situation. He snatched his wand back from Rookwood.

"What did you do that for?"

"Are you people idiots? You leave two corpses, clearly killed by the Death Curse, _next door _to me, and then don't mark the scene? Do you know how suspicious that looks? And what if the Ministry figures out how these people died? 'Gee, I wonder why the Death Eaters didn't leave their mark! Could it be that they didn't want to call attention to this area? Why would that be so? Oh, I know, because Augustus Rookwood is a goddamn Death Eater!"

"_Muffliato_," Snape whispered, as Rookwood was becoming carelessly loud.

"Erm. Fine, then." Malfoy said. "Good thinking. This way, they'll think it's just a coincidence that you live next door."

"Not bloody likely! Someone hurt me!"

"What?"

Rookwood held up a robed arm. "Come on, come on, dammit!"

No one moved. Finally, Snape took out his wand, pointing it carefully.

"_Sectumsempra."_

The arm of Rookwood's robe was slashed open, and blood splattered from a deep cut running along his radius He winced and muttered in pain, holding the wound, but didn't complain.

"Fine," Malfoy said, "So, once we've gone, you'll head to St. Mungo's with your wife, and report that you saw a Death Eater killing the people next door, no doubt looking for you. You went out to fight them, chased them off, and were hurt in the process."

"Yeah, thanks for repeating my own plan back to me, that's helpful," Rookwood glowered. "It's pointless. I'm screwed. They'll never believe that I was able to chase off a Death Eater."

"Actually," Malfoy said, thoughtfully, "We usually leave the scene if we go to the wrong house by mistake. We wait until a few nights later to come back for the correct target. The Ministry has probably figured that out. Your story is solid."

"Hrm .But, why would the Death Eaters be after me in the first place?"

"Hrm. You're right, you're not really important enough."

"Thanks," Rookwood sneered.

"Oh, wait… weren't you involved in the arrest of Jugson's brother a few months ago?"

"I signed off on it, yeah."

"Well, Jugson is a Death Eater; say he was the one you fought tonight; that he must have come to settle a vendetta.

"That head-case is a Death Eater?"

"Quite. But I don't think the Dark Lord cares if the whole world knows that, so go ahead and tell the Ministry.

"Fine, fine. Dammit, they'll probably make me move to a safe-house, or something."

Malfoy patted Rookwood on the shoulder. "A small price to pay for the pleasure of serving the Dark Lord."

Rookwood glared, but kept his mouth shut, and the Death Eaters finally departed. As an afterthought, Snape cancelled his Muffliato spell. They stopped behind a stand of trees in a yard across the street, within view of the house, but out of sight of Rookwood himself. Malfoy seemed to be intently watching.

It wasn't long before they heard Rookwood start producing some passably realistic screams. A light went on in his house, and they heard a woman's voice shriek, "Augustus!?"

Malfoy's hooded head bobbed with a nod. "That's fine. Let's go."

"You did very well, Narcissa whispered to Malfoy.

"Yew deed veery weeell!" mimicked Bellatrix, using a voice that Snape thought might shatter his ear drums.

Narcissa glared daggers at her sister as the six of them disapparated to the hotel.

Yaxley was very pleased by their success, and assured them all that they were full-fledged Death Eaters for sure now. Within moments, he had marched off to make sure that they had a robe that would fit Rookwood. A full-fledged Death Eater… Snape suspected that this meant they'd soon have to begin going on their own solo outings late at night.

He took his leave from the others, and headed for the door leading out to the hall. Before he reached it, it opened, and a hooded Dolohov stepped through. He was sweating, and, as he lowered his hood, he appeared very satisfied with himself. He had a fresh scar running across his right cheek.

"Where is Yaxley?" he asked. His accent was as thick as ever, but his English had been improving lately. Snape pointed, and Dolohov strode off.

It would appear that Dolohov was now a full-fledged Death Eater as well.

Snape crept out into the hall, taking the elevator to the seventeenth floor. It wasn't until he was almost to his door that he realized he was being quietly followed. He turned, slowly. Mulciber stood at the end of the hall. Snape wondered how he had done it. Had he taken another elevator? Plodded up sixteen flights of stairs? Or simply apparated? Snape certainly wasn't about to inquire.

"…Yes?" Snape asked instead.

"I am going to return to the park. Perhaps you'd like to come?"

"No. I don't think so."

Mulciber smiled and nodded, then turned to leave. Snape had just placed his hand on the doorknob of his room when Mulciber, who was stepping into the elevator, spoke again.

"If I wanted to, I could make you."

Snape shuddered as he entered the room and shut the door behind him.

He changed and crawled into bed, head buzzing with the events that had trespassed that night. It was a blur. He remembered the Dark Lord, covered in blood. The park, so strange at night. The dead Muggles…

_Stay out of trouble, okay?_

No! Why was she still in his head? He hadn't seen her for six months, why couldn't he forget about her? Why, no matter what he did, not matter what he'd seen, did he always come back to her? Thinking about the Dark Lord worked sometimes, but he always came back to her, in the end. Always.

He lay awake for hours, eyes full of tears, thinking of her, thinking of the friendship he had destroyed, thinking of who she was with now. Black robe or not, dark mark or not, in all the years since he had ruined everything, nothing had really changed.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Joining the Fold**_

_**By Duckflesh**_

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 5**_

Snape's bloodshot eyes snapped open. Daylight was streaming in through the windows, just as it had been when he'd finally managed to fall asleep. He didn't know how long ago that had been, but from the way he felt, he estimated about five minutes. He was staring at the stubbly face of Rodolphus Lestrange, who was standing next to his bed, looming over him.

"…Yes?" Snape asked, groggily.

"Yaxley wants to see us."

Snape grunted, glancing at the tiny clock ticking away on his nightstand. It was nine in the morning. Yaxley had been kind enough to allow them four hours of rest. Out of that, Snape had been asleep for about forty-five minutes. Those forty-five minutes had been fevered, troubled by bad dreams that he couldn't quite remember.

Snape grunted again and pushed himself up into a sitting position. Rodolphus smirked. "Christ, Sev, you look like hell."

Snape ignored him, crawling out of the bed. He grabbed his crumpled robes off the floor and pulled them on.

"Where are we meeting Yaxley?"

"His office, Eighth floor."

"Who brought you the message?"

"Mulciber."

"Ah," Snape said sympathetically.

"Can you imagine waking up to that guy? I nearly had a heart attack. He just came right into our room."

Snape made a mental note to charm his door against intrusion.

They headed for the elevator, and took it down to the eighth floor, where it turned out Bellatrix was impatiently waiting for them.

"What took you so long?" she whined. "Yaxley's orders come straight from the Dark Lord! We shouldn't keep him waiting!"

"Relax, babe," Rodolphus said. "There isn't any ru—"

He was interrupted as one of the other elevators rumbled heavily. Its doors slid open, and Malfoy and Narcissa stepped out. Neither of them was in top form; a late night, followed by not enough sleep, had left their pale faces dark with shadows. Their almost matching blonde hair, usually smooth and silky in both cases, was a bit disheveled. Snape considered that Narcissa was actually pulling the "just out of bed" look off fairly well.

Rodolphus cocked his head. "All of us again, huh? Must be something important."

"As important as a five minute conversation in the middle of the night with a low-ranking ministry official, at least," Narcissa said airily. She glanced at Snape. "Wow, Severus, you look like hell."

Snape didn't disagree.

"Let's go," Malfoy grumbled, and took a step towards Yaxley's office.

"Hold it, hold it," Rodolphus said, planting a large hand on Malfoy's shoulder and pulling him back. "We've got an exiting announcement!"

Snape, Malfoy, and Narcissa exchanged nervous glances before focusing their attention on Rodolphus, around whom Bellatrix had wrapped herself like a python.

"I've asked Bella to marry me!" Rodolphus proclaimed gleefully.

"And I've said yes," Bellatrix said, and the two began kissing in a manner that Snape didn't consider entirely appropriate for in public.

Snape glanced at Narcissa, wide-eyed. The girl responded by tremoring slightly, clearly barely able to contain a fit of giggling. To cover it, she grabbed Malfoy, who looked as bored as ever, and started kissing him almost as vulgarly as Bellatrix was doing Rodolphus.

This was unexpected enough to break up the new fiancés, who turned to stare. Snape joined them. When Narcissa had disengaged from the now disoriented looking Malfoy, she avoided making eye contact with Snape, no doubt in an attempt not to provoke herself to any more fits of laughter.

"Congratulations!" she said, in a voice full of forced control.

Malfoy, whose morning befuddlement had not been improved by Narcissa's sudden display of affection, muttered something that sounded like "Yes, quite, quite."

"Erm… Congratulations," Snape said lamely, unable to think of anything more original. Bellatrix and Rodolphus either didn't notice the unenthusiastic responses or didn't care, because they both appeared as happy as ever.

"Let's get married right away," Bellatrix squealed, pulling on the front of Rodolphus' robes.

"Sure, hon, whatever you want."

"We'll have to have the Dark Lord wed us, of course."

There was a snort from Narcissa. All eyes turned to her, and she quickly attempted to pass it off as a cough.

Rodolphus himself looked a tad taken aback, however. "Well, I guess that'd be appropriate… what with us living here and all…"

"Well," Bellatrix said testily, "Surely you're not suggesting we should have someone else do it? That would be a slight to the Dark Lord, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus frowned, irritation starting to show on his face.

"Erm," Narcissa said, clearly trying to avoid an argument, "Where are you going to go for the honeymoon?"

This worked well enough, as Rodolphus brightened up a bit. "I've always sort of wanted to meet some vampires," he said, "so maybe Eastern Europe?"

"Well, we can't _go_ anywhere, Rodolphus," Bellatrix said matter-of-factly. "The Dark Lord could need our services here at any time. We can't abandon him, not even for a day!"  
Rodolphus took on the blank expression that signified shock. Snape knew that, in Rodolphus, this was typically followed by anger.

"We shouldn't keep Yaxley waiting any longer," Snape said quickly.

"No," agreed Narcissa, seizing the opportunity to avoid standing around awkwardly during a lover's quarrel, "We'd better go!"

She prodded Malfoy, who took the hint and started off down the hallway at a clip. She and Snape followed, and, much to Snape's relief, Bellatrix and Rodolphus fell in behind them without much hesitance.

They managed to make it to Yaxley's office before Rodolphus figured out just how upset at Bellatrix he was, and entered quickly. Snape planned to make a quick escape from the pair once they were done here, if at all possible.

The office was basically a small living room that been emptied of furniture. It was now dominated by a massive mahogany desk in its center. Snape figured that magic must have been used to bring the thing in, as it was far too large to have fit through the door. The desk, as well as a decent portion of the floor surrounding it, was covered in new books, ancient tomes, and disorderly piles of parchment. A large picture window occupied a decent part of the room's far wall, and around it sat several caged owls, gently hooting.

Yaxley sat behind the desk, scribbling line after line of tight, neat writing onto a parchment with enough force that the quill might have shattered at any time. As the five of them approached the desk, Yaxley looked up.

Snape immediately realized that something was terribly wrong. He was not what you'd call a people-person, granted; however, he had spent a lot of time around Yaxley for the last six months, and was not unfamiliar with the man's habits. Typically, Yaxley looked bored and slightly amused, no matter how busy he was. When he was worried, his brow furrowed and he frowned deeply as he worried about saving his own skin. Now, though, he wore an expression that Snape had not seen before. He was smiling, but it was a forced, ugly thing. It was the type of smile that seemed to take so much effort to maintain that it could collapse into a scowl at any moment.

Snape seemed to be the only one who noticed this, as none of the others looked particularly concerned. When Yaxley spoke, his voice was cheerful—too much so, really. Snape could easily sense the underlying coldness. Yaxley was a cruel man, and would happily kill to accomplish his goals. Snape had never before felt, however, that he himself was in danger of Yaxley's malice.

"Say," Yaxley was telling them, "That was a great job you all did last night."

Snape stood stock still. This wasn't going anywhere good. He wished he could warn the others not to take the bait.

"Thank you, sir," Bellatrix said, eagerly. "Did you… did you tell the Dark Lord what we did?"

"Why, yes," Yaxley said far too pleasantly, "I just recently had quite a discussion with the Dark Lord, as a matter of fact."

"We have good news!" Bellatrix squealed, and Snape wondered what could have possibly possessed her to think that Yaxley would care about her engagement plans.

"Oh, do you? Hey, me, too. How about mine first, huh?" Yaxley said, voice sickeningly cheerful. Snape wondered whether he could get away with backing towards the door.

"Oh," said Bellatrix, in a voice that conveyed she didn't care for that idea at all, "Sure."

"Swell," said Yaxley. Snape glanced at his comrades again. Malfoy and Narcissa both looked frightened. They had figured out somewhere in the past minute that something was seriously off. Bellatrix and Rodolphus, on the other hand, looked upset; Rodolphus no doubt because he'd finally worked out that he was angry at Bellatrix, and Bellatrix because she wanted to get back to discussing the wedding plans so that she could be the center of attention again. Snape took a brief moment to consider how profoundly stupid they both were.

Yaxley had pulled an owl post envelope out of one of the massive piles of parchment on his desk. He carefully pulled up the flap--the seal was already broken--and took out a letter, which he unfolded carefully.

"Narcissa Black," he read in a painfully chipper voice, "Please note the following. You cast the Avada Kedavra curse last night at 4:39 AM in London, England. Due to the illegal nature of your actions, you are to be placed under arrest for the following breaches of the law: one, the use of an illegal curse; two, the use of magic on muggles; three, the use of magic in front of muggles; four the use of magic as a minor outside of school; five, murder. Please remain in your home, and you will be brought in to the Ministry shortly to undergo a fair trial before the Wizengamot. Sincerely, some stupid bastard, the Improper use of Magic Office, Ministry of Magic."

The room had gone dead silent. Even the owls seemed to understand that nothing good was about to happen. Snape avoided Yaxley's gaze at all costs, looking instead at the top of the desk in front of him. Next to him, he could feel Narcissa shaking in terror.

Yaxley very neatly folded the letter back up and placed it carefully back into its envelope. Finally, he looked back up at them, face still warped into its twisted mask of insincerity.

"I can expl—" Malfoy began. Yaxley's smiled disappeared instantly, a fire of rage exploding behind his eyes. Before Malfoy could finish, Yaxley had swung a beefy fist across the desk, connecting hard with Malfoy's cheek. Malfoy stumbled backwards and collapsed to the floor, howling in pain. From the sound the blow had made, he'd be lucky if his jaw was still intact.

Narcissa began to cry. "Please!" she pleaded, "It's not his fault! Punish… punish me!"

Yaxley gave her a cruel look of disgust before grabbing his wand off the desk.

"_Crucio!_" He shouted, and Narcissa collapsed to the ground, screaming.

"Don't presume to tell me what to do, bitch!" Yaxley cried, shaking with ferocity. "Did you think I wasn't going to punish you? You've only had a taste of what you're going to get! _Crucio!_"

Another bolt of red light slammed into Narcissa, its force sending her sliding across the carpet. She screamed so loudly that it left a ringing in Snape's ears. Malfoy clambered to his feet and stumbled for Narcissa, no doubt to protect her. With a sneer, Yaxley pointed his wand at Malfoy.

"_Crucio!_"

Malfoy was down again instantly, making distinctly inhuman noises. Yaxley brandished his wand, staring down at them coldly. Snape shut his eyes.

"_Crucio!_" he heard.

"_Crucio! Crucio!_ _CRUCIO!"_

There was a moment of silence, and Snape forced himself to look. Both figures on the floor were shivering, but it was probably involuntary spasms brought on by the pain. Too horrified to watch, too ashamed to close his eyes, he compromised by checking on the other two.

Bellatrix, standing not a foot away from where her sister was writhing on the floor, was managing to combine three expressions at once; indifference at her sister's plight, fear of her own fate, and interest in the effects of the curse. Standing behind his fiancé, but easily tall enough to watch the spectacle over her, Rodolphus looked horrified. Snape knew that this had very little to do with any kind of basic human morality. When Rodolphus saw a muggle or an Auror die, he enjoyed it. He watched with glee, delighting in their screams, bathing in their agony. However, even in a person psychopathic enough to become a Death Eater, and especially in one of lesser mental ability, there was always an underlying, twisted sense of right and wrong; one that divided all of mankind into two camps; friends, and enemies. Rodolphus was watching one "friend" torture another, and clearly, he was having trouble grasping the concept.

Snape's gaze wandered back down to the ground. He caught Malfoy's eyes once, but they both knew full well that there was nothing Snape could do to help.

Yaxley seemed to have calmed down; enough so, at least, to stop cursing his victims. He lowered his wand, panting slightly. Finally, he turned his gaze coolly to Bellatrix.

"Bellatrix Black. Say, that's funny, because she—"

He threw an arm out, indicating Narcissa's huddled form.

"She's a Black too! Say, are you two _related_?"

"I…" Bellatrix stumbled, "Yes, we'r—"

"Then perhaps you should have mentioned to me that she was still attending school, and still a minor! Perhaps that information, which you had and I did not, would have been useful!"

Bellatrix looked terrified, as though it had never occurred to her that she might take any of the blame for this. "I… I just assumed that you knew… the Dark Lord… the Dark Lord knows all…"

"Sure!" Yaxley screamed, "Genealogy and demographics are a big hobby of the Dark Lord! He sits up at all goddamn hours of the night mapping out the birthdates of little blonde girls for future reference!"

"I…" Bellatrix stammered, but Yaxley ignored her.

"And you two morons!" Yaxley howled, jabbing his finger first at Snape and then at Rodolphus. "You went to school with Bellatrix for seven years! _You_ dated her, for God's sake!" he yelled, pointing at Rodolphus. "And yet you never managed to figure out that her sister was _younger _than her? And, from there, do some goddamn basic addition to find out that she's still a minor!?"

Rodolphus stared at the floor. "I… it's like Bella said, sir, I thought you knew…"

Snape avoided eye contact as well. "I did not know, sir," he said. "I'm sorry"

It was true; he hadn't known. At school, he had known only two Blacks, and hated them both. Finding out about their family tree hadn't been his top priority.

Yaxley looked like he was about to yell something else, but seemed to stop himself. He raised his hands to his face, rubbing his temples. The storm, Snape knew, had passed.

"This place is unplottable," Yaxley said, and his voice now sounded as calm as it ever had, if a little more tired that usual. "Owls can't find it. This letter was delivered to the Black household." He nodded at Narcissa's unconscious body. "She can't go back there. In fact, for all intents and purposes, she can't really leave here at all until she comes of age. Every goddamn spell she casts will bring a swarm of Aurors running. We're lucky they didn't catch you last night."

"Sir," Snape said, carefully, "Rookwood was going to tell the Ministry that Jugson killed his neighbors. If they know that it was Narcissa…"

Yaxley nodded. "Yeah, I know. Rookwood already managed to talk his way out of that little sticky situation. You're all just pretty goddamn lucky he's such a good liar."

Snape, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix all had the sense to nod graciously.

"She sure as hell can't go back to school, anyway. Though, considering it's currently in session, I doubt that's going to break her heart," Yaxley said. "As for Malfoy… you hear me, Malfoy?"

Malfoy looked up from his position on the ground, still twitching slightly. The torture curse had been cast on him four times.

"Good, Malfoy. Listen, maybe you didn't know she was a minor. Maybe you just forgot. Maybe you knew, and lied about it. I don't care. But if anything like this ever happens again, your life is forfeit. And it won't be as easy as the Death Curse, Malfoy. The Dark Lord will come up with something special for you. So, watch yourself. You won't get another free pass."

Malfoy sputtered something in response, but it was impossible to understand him.

Yaxley sighed, and lowered his significant bulk down into his chair. His eyes finally left them, focusing now, as they had been earlier, on the parchments spread out on his desk.

"Get them out of my sight," he said.

Snape quickly hauled Malfoy off the ground, and it turned out that he was able to walk with help. Rodolphus scooped Narcissa off the floor, carrying her as one carries a bride over the threshold. They all quickly left the office, heading for Rodolphus and Bellatrix's room, which was closest.

In silence, they laid Malfoy and Narcissa out on the bed. Narcissa seemed to have regained consciousness during the journey down the hall; her hand found Malfoy's, and she twined her fingers around his.

Snape tapped Rodolphus on the shoulder. "I know a potion that can make them feel a bit better. Can you go to my room and get my potions kit out of my trunk?"

"Sure, Sev," Rodolphus said, clearly grateful for something to do.

"Bellatrix," Snape said, the name distasteful in his mouth, "Go wet some towels with cold water and bring them back here."

"Wh— " She started to complain, but Rodolphus cut her off. "Come on, Bella," he said, and pulled her out the door with him.

Snape checked Narcissa's robe; it was soaked with sweat. He pulled it off, along with Malfoy's, and tossed them into the corner of the room. They had clearly both gotten dressed quickly that morning, as they were wearing their bed clothes under the robes.

"I'm cold," Narcissa whimpered weakly. Snape felt her forehead with the back of his hand.

"You feel hot. So, averaging the two, I'd say you're just fine."

She laughed weakly.

"I forgot," Malfoy said.

"What?" Snape asked, confused.

"I forgot. We had agreed that she couldn't do any magic until she came of age. Hell, we didn't need to agree on it. It was the only option. But I forgot. I forgot, and I told her to use the curse, and she did. Cissy, why did you do it? Didn't you remember?"

She whimpered. Snape realized she was crying again.

"I… remembered," she said, "But I thought… I thought since I left school, I thought that maybe it would be okay; maybe they wouldn't be watching me anymore. I just… I wanted you to be proud of me, Lucius. I love you so much…"

He didn't respond, but Snape saw his hand squeeze hers a little tighter.

"Why didn't you just wait, finish your education?" Snape asked, realizing they were in no condition to answer questions, but too curious not to.

"I hated it there," Narcissa said. "It was a bloody waste of time. Everyone there was either a moron or else pathetically average. What the he—" she broke off from what she was saying as she began to cough violently. Snape and Malfoy both looked concerned, but there was little they could do until it subsided.

"What the hell would I want to graduate for," she managed to finish. "Get my NEWTS so I can become some goddamn quill pusher at the Ministry? Not likely."

"I tried to tell her," Malfoy said, weakly, "That none of us wanted to do that kind of thing, but that we all graduated anyway."

She smiled, brushing her fingers through his hair lightly. "I understood that, Lucius, but I just couldn't wait any longer. This is where the action is. It could all be over by the time I would have graduated. If we win, then we'll have made futures for ourselves, the real kind, not that useless existence everyone else gets by on. And if we lose, and we all die, well, it doesn't matter. I'll have been part of something important, something special, the likes of which most people only get to read about in stories, in histories. This is history, right here. And if my choices are to be here with the two of you, serving the greatest wizard in the history or time, or sitting in goddamn Charms class learning how to repair a busted teapot for the fortieth time, well, that's not really a choice at all." She coughed again, violently, but when Snape tried to step away to get her glass of water, she grabbed him by the wrist, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"I told Lucius I was dropping out whether he brought be here or not," she said, "and I meant that. And I don't regret it. Even after tonight. I don't regret it."

At his point, Bellatrix and Rodolphus reappeared, gabbing happily about their wedding plans. From listening to them, one would never know that in the last hour they had witnessed Bellatrix's sister being hideously tortured by her employer. Bellatrix tossed the damp towels at Snape, and he applied one each to Narcissa and Malfoy's foreheads. He then began digging through the potions kit Rodolphus had retrieved. It was meticulously organized, and he found the ingredients he needed quite quickly, mixing them all together in a small flask. He tapped it with his wand, heating it to allow the compounds to meld, before leaning over each patient and giving them a sip.

It took a few minutes, but they began to improve. They were still pale, but they had finally stopped trembling, and were able to move without much pain. It wasn't long before they were both sitting up on the bedspread.

"I wonder what would happen if he had kept casting the curse," Bellatrix said, uncaring of Narcissa's wince at the thought. "He did it, what, four times on Narcissa? What if he'd done it… fifty times? What do you think would have happened to her?"

Snape smirked. "I don't think anyone has ever been quite insane enough to find out."

She glared at him, and he wondered what had ever possessed Ollivander to bestow a psychopath like her with a wand.

"Lucius", Narcissa said abruptly, her voice dripping with the fear of someone who has just thought of something truly awful "What if… what if the Dark Lord is defeated, and I'm not killed? Some of the rest of you will still have deniability, but they know for sure what I've done! The Ministry will arrest me, and I'll go to Azkaban… that… that wasn't what I meant when I said I wanted to be where the action is…"

"No, no," Malfoy said, clearly making his voice as strong and reassuring as he could under the circumstances, "It'll be fine. You'll just say that you were under the control of the Imperius curse. If I still have a clean record then, I'll vouch for you. And Snape, too. Right, Snape?"

Snape nodded sincerely.

Malfoy turned to look at Bellatrix and Rodolphus, perhaps to ask them if they'd do the same. He found himself face to face with Bellatrix's wand.

"You…" she spat, shaking with rage, "how dare you… talk about the Dark Lord being defeated… how could you even…"

"Bella," Narcissa said, sternly, "Settle down. We're not saying we want the Dark Lord to be defeated. It's just, if he is—"

"If he is," Bellatrix shrieked, "then we all go down with him! Does loyalty mean nothing to you?" She pulled up her sleeve, showing her Dark Mark. "Does this mean _anything_ to you?"

"Bella, be reasonab—"

"Traitorous bitch!" Bellatrix screamed, and before anyone could stop her, she had brought her wand to bear on Narcissa. "_Crucio_!"

Narcissa scream so loudly that Snape saw Rodolphus clamped his hands to his ears. Snape himself was too horrified by this turn of events to do much more than stare. Malfoy had grabbed Narcissa, and was cradling her in his arms, staring in horror at Bellatrix. His wand was in the pocket of his robes, which were far out of reach.

"Jesus, Bellatrix!" Rodolphus wailed. "Your own sister? You can't… it's not right…"

"Shut up! Shut up! Nothing should be mort important to us than him, don't you understand? No one is to talk about surrender, or life without him! No one! How could anyone even suggest—you!" She shrieked, pointing the wand wildly at Malfoy. "You've corrupted her, you son of a bitch! My own sister! Well, you won't corrupt anyone else! _Avada Ked_—"

"_Stupefy_!" Snape screamed. He had drawn while she was talking, and the second she had made her move, he'd touched the tip of his wand to the side of her head. The red burst of energy threw her into the wall, where she collapsed, unconscious. Rodolphus ran to her, scooping her up into his arms.

Snape stared, wand still clutched so firmly in his grip that his knuckles were white. He felt a weak brushing against his arm, and looked down to see Narcissa, still held tightly in Malfoy's arms, reaching out to him.

"Thank… you…" she said, before losing consciousness out for the second time that day.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Joining the Fold**_

_**By Duckflesh**_

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 6**_

Several weeks had passed since the night in Yaxley's office. Despite having become a full member of the organization, Snape hadn't been out of the hotel much in that time. So far as he could tell, this was the result of two factors; one, he, along with Rodolphus, Bellatrix, and Malfoy, were on semi-probation for failing to prevent the Narcissa incident. Perhaps more importantly, however, Snape suspected that the Dark Lord was running out of people to kill. His power had never been greater, and resistance had fallen to an all-time low. Snape sometimes wondered if Voldemort might be able to win a popular election for Minister of Magic. Most of the pureblood families certainly seemed to be coming over to the Dark Lord's side, even if they wouldn't admit to it in public.

Snape had taken to drifting through the halls as a way to stem his boredom, and tonight was no exception. He had not seen much of Rodolphus lately; after the incident, Bellatrix was loathe to so much as make eye contact with Snape. Naturally, he was quite pleased about this. However, in the pit of his stomach, he sometimes felt a certain dread regarding the retribution that Bellatrix was bound to be plotting. She was certainly not above using the Death Curse on him; chances were she had only been kept in line thus far through fear of Rodolphus, Yaxley, and most importantly, the Dark Lord himself.

Not seeing Bellatrix was like a dream come true, but without Rodolphus, Snape found himself without much to do. He occasionally went to visit Malfoy and Narcissa in their room, but never stayed long. Though he was always treated warmly, Narcissa still seeping with gratitude that he had saved Malfoy's life, Snape always got the feeling that the two wanted to be alone together.

Snape liked to think of himself as something of a loner; the type who was self-sufficient, who didn't need friends to get by. This rationale had originated at the end of his Fifth Year at school, and it had served him well since. However, being alone in the hotel was much different than being alone at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord's hideout was disturbingly quiet, and, despite the growing number of Death Eaters taking residence within, it was large enough to remain unsettling vacant. At certain times of day, you could walk from floor to floor for hours without seeing another living thing.

Dead things were another matter altogether; the corpses of the hotel staff remained littered throughout the building. Snape always stepped over the bodies, trying not to look at them, but couldn't avoid catching a glimpse from time to time. Most of them, especially those on the more populated floors, were strangely deformed from being stepped on so often. Snape had overheard Yaxley mention to Dolohov that the corpses had been charmed not to produce any smell. Their slow decay, however, went on unhindered. Apparently, Yaxley considered it an art form.

Snape found himself, as so often was the case lately, drifting towards the second floor parlor. If he was lucky, Rabastan might be there, and he could talk the nervous man into playing a game of chess with him. Failing that, Dolohov had left piles of dark arts texts lying all around the place, and Snape hadn't read most of them yet.

Pushing through the large doors, Snape surveyed the massive room. A fire crackled weakly in the hearth, a lone figure sitting before it. It was Igor Karkaroff. His frowning face, framed in wild black hair, was illuminated by the dancing flames. Staring into the fire, he appeared almost hypnotized.

Snape didn't mind Karkaroff, and seeing as he was desperate, he approached the hearth, sliding into one of the large chairs. Karkaroff nodded in recognition, but didn't take his eyes away from the flames. The man was no longer the coward he had been seven months ago; no doubt he had since come to understand that hiding in the face of combat could well get him rebuked or killed. Snape had stood guard duty with Karkaroff on several occasions, waiting for other Death Eaters to finish their ghastly work. Karkaroff did not run or hide on the rare instances when they were forced to fight. However, he never seemed enthusiastic about dueling, the way so many other Death Eaters were. Like Dolohov, his English had greatly improved in the past few months.

Snape considered starting a conversation, but he didn't have anything important to say, and small talk bored him. Instead, he started reading the spines on a pile of books someone had left sitting on a side table. He settled on _Destructive Potions_, and was reaching out for it when Karkaroff spoke.

"I am worried, Severus."

Snape blinked, and waited to see if there would be more, but the sullen foreigner did not speak again.

"What about?" Snape inquired, finally.

"I came here to escape the Ministry in my country. A few years ago… right when I got out of school… they caught me using the Imperius Curse. I went to Nurmengard for four years. Do you know it?"

"I've heard of it."

"It is an evil place. Grindelwald built it for muggles, mudbloods, and dissenters. After he was defeated, he and his followers were imprisoned in the very hell they had constructed."

Snape nodded, unsure of what to say. Karkaroff pushed on.

"My father… my father was with Grindelwald. He was one of his followers. They caught him not long after Grindelwald's fall, and put him in Nurmengard. He rotted there. I was able to visit him, once or twice. The prison broke him. He barely even knew who I was, by the end. I watched him waste away into a corpse; my father looked like he should have been dead long before his life finally left him."

"I'm sorry," Snape said, lamely.

"My mother died not long after. I was alone. I did not wish to work, so I used the Imperius curse on a shopkeeper so that he would let me take what I wanted without having to pay. I began doing it quite often. Do you think that is so bad, Severus?"

Snape thought about it. It was a massive breach of human rights, but compared to the things he had seen done with the unforgivable curses since becoming a Death Eater, Karkaroff's infraction seemed almost irrelevant.

"I was caught, and they put me in Nurmengard. I spent four years in the same place that my father wasted most of his life. A little piece of you dies every day, when you are in prison. Nurmengard was an evil place, built by an evil man. The very brick and mortar of that foul building are poisoned by malice. Perhaps it was right to lock Grindelwald away in his own terrible creation. But now they put petty thieves in Nurmengard, along with forgers, counterfeiters, and people who own too many charmed muggle artifacts. It is as though they forgot where the building came from."

"What did you do after you got out?" Snape asked.

"I was free, but had a record. It would be hard to find work, and if they caught me committing another crime, I would go back to Nurmengard, and I would never again set foot outside its walls. But I did not want to become a normal wizard. Even if I could find a way to hide my criminal record, the options for my future—becoming a bureaucrat, or a shopkeeper… I could not see how these things were so much different from prison. Do you understand that?"

Snape nodded. He did. It was one of the reasons that he was here. Really, he thought, it was part of what made someone want to be a Death Eater. There was a certain mentality that allowed a person to assign themselves to a job and to a family, and then pursue that course for their entire life. For a certain few, though, this didn't appeal, and such people often found themselves lost, all of their options seeming tedious, unpleasant, or both. A movement like Voldemort's, one that allowed an escape from boredom, was very tempting to a person like that. Maybe all the Death Eaters were just looking for a better life than what society could give them.

No, Snape thought, remembering Yaxley's callous face as he cast the Cruciatus Curse on Narcissa. Desire for a better life was one motivator, perhaps, but it was not the only thing that drove someone to become a Death Eater. There were certain other criteria as well.

Karkaroff's grim voice brought him back to reality. "So, I did not wish to go back to prison, but if I could not break the law, I would have no choice but to become…"

_Normal_, Snape thought.

"This is when I met Dolohov," Karkaroff continued. "He told me he was going to England. I knew that England had a more relaxed legal system—I would be safer. I decided to go. Dolohov told me he was going to join up with a revolutionary group, when he arrived. He said that, if I came with him, then I could live a life of adventure and luxury. I am, I suppose. He did not lie to me."

Snape nodded. He sympathized with Karkaroff's seeming regret. He himself often wondered if coming here had been the correct decision. It was easy enough to want to stay when he looked into the Dark Lord's glowing eyes, bathed in his power. But when Snape was lying awake at night, thinking of the things he'd seen… then it was harder.

To torture oneself over the decision, however, as Karkaroff was doing, was pointless. There was no turning back. The second they entered the hotel, their fates had been decided. Each of them had the mark, and would bear them until death.

"So here I am, Severus," Karkaroff was saying. "It did not take me long to realize that I had chosen the exact same path as my father. I have fallen in with the dark side. Albus Dumbledore stopped Grindelwald; he is why my father was captured. And now, so many years later, Dumbledore is the greatest threat to He Who Must Not Be Named. Perhaps I will share my father's fate. I… did not know before I came here about this Azkaban Prison. Everyone dreads it so! You English… you do not have any buildings as evil as Nurmengard, so instead you built a normal one, and then filled it with the most terrible creatures imaginable. It is astounding to me. Even my government would not condemn criminals to be haunted by Dementors, cursed to never feel happy again. I thought I was escaping Nurmengard when I came here, but all I've done is found Azkaban!"

Snape laughed mirthlessly. The Ministry's legal system really did sound horrible, when it was put that way. He'd heard rumors that some of the Dementors had left the service of the Ministry to work for Voldemort, but there were still plenty in Azkaban to ensure that life in prison was far worse than death.

"At least," Karkaroff said grimly, "I will not leave a son behind to not know his father."

Before Snape could say anything, the parlor doors creaked open. Yaxley stood silhouetted in the light from the hallway.

"Snape!" Yaxley yelled cheerily.

Snape stood up quickly, but kept his gaze down. Since that night a few weeks ago, he had trouble looking Yaxley in the eye. If the large man noticed this, he did not show it.

"Come on," Yaxley said, "The Dark Lord wants to see you."

Snape blinked, surprised. He executed a quick nod at Karkaroff, who returned it sullenly, and then he ran after Yaxley, who had already disappeared from the doorway. Snape caught up with him as the elevator was opening, and the two stepped inside.

"Do you know what he needs from me?" Snape asked tentatively.

"Potions things," Yaxley said, sounding almost embarrassed.

"Oh," Snape said, and left it at that. He'd find out more soon enough.

They walked out onto the eleventh floor, towards the large suite at the end of the hallway. As they entered, Snape expected that they would head through the door straight ahead and into the study where had had met the Dark Lord for the first time. Instead, however, Yaxley veered left, and they entered a door Snape had not noticed before.

They were now standing in a nicely appointed living room, complete with a couch and several chairs. A long, high coffee table occupied the center of the room, and it was currently covered with several open books, dozens of beakers and jars, and six cauldrons full of bubbling potion.

The Dark Lord stood behind the table, and seemed to be manipulating the contents of several cauldrons at once with his wand. Snape had never seen the Dark Lord in such a well-lit environment before. His hood was lowered, his pale complexion and unhealthy-looking brown hair fully apparent. He glanced at them as they entered, smiling coldly.

"Ah, Yaxley. I see you have managed to find someone less incompetent than yourself at assisting in potion making."

"Erm… yes, my lord," Yaxley said unhappily. He settled down into a chair near the door and produced the_ Daily Prophet_ from his robes.

"Snape, come here," the Dark Lord instructed.

Snape did so instantly, staring down at the bubbling crucibles.

"Do you recognize what I am brewing, Snape?"

"No," Snape said, surprised by the answer. "I'm not familiar with this, sir."

The Dark Lord laughed coldly. "No, I suppose you wouldn't be. This potion creates Inferi."

Snape tried to contain his shock. He had only heard the term a few times before, and he had always doubted that it referred to something that actually existed. Apparently, Inferi were indeed all too real. They were the living dead; corpses that walked the earth, slaves to their master's bidding. Snape stared into the murky depths of one of the potions. Could it really…

"As you can see," the Dark Lord said coolly, "Upon completion, we will have enough of this potion to create quite a number of… _followers_."

"Yes," Snape agreed. He kneeled down in front of the table. "What do you need me to do, master?" He was anxious to see how the potion was made.

The Dark Lord gestured at the cauldrons. "These contain a mixture of Wormwood, Nightshade, and Wolfsbane."

Snape looked at the contents of the black pots more carefully. Each brew was a uniform murky brown.

The Dark Lord produced a vial from his robes. It contained a thick liquid, pure black.

"I will be adding this to each cauldron. Upon the addition, the potions will become unstable, and I will have to concentrate to keep them from creating a rift in reality."

Snape looked up at the Dark Lord in surprise. He'd never heard of such a thing. "What happens if you lose concentration?" He asked.

The Dark Lord smiled mirthlessly. "The potion will send out a wave of dark magic, killing everyone within several miles." Behind them, the sounds of Yaxley's page turning had stopped abruptly. He had no doubt overheard, and couldn't be pleased by this new information.

Snape found his eyes locked on the vial in the Dark Lord's pale, almost skeletal hand. He followed it back and forth, back and forth, before realizing that the Dark Lord was weaving the bottle through the air, leading Snape's gaze around on purpose. He had a knowing look on his face. "Few potion makers are exposed to this, Snape. You are lucky."

"What is it, master?"

"This, Severus… is the blood of a Dementor."

Snape stared at the contents of the vial. It made sense; so much sense, in fact, that he was surprised he had not seen it before. A liquid that black… what else could it have been?

"How…" Snape began.

"We have quite a few of them working with us now. It is a little competition I have going with the Ministry; who can provide more victims for the Dementors? Unfortunately, Azkaban is still full of ripe souls to pluck, so many of our hooded friends are still reluctant to come to our side. That will change."

"So… you just killed one of the ones working for you?" Snape asked.

Voldemort laughed coldly. "They would not have taken kindly to my killing one of their own arbitrarily. But when I told them that I needed one of them dead, and that in return I would allow them each to take a muggle's soul that very night, well, all I had to do was sit back and watch. They descended upon one of their comrades and tore the poor fool apart, and now I have more Dementor's blood than any Potions Master living. Granted, most others are too unskilled, or too cowardly, to brew any of the potions for which it is an ingredient."

Snape nodded, hypnotized. It was times like this that he was joyous at having become a Death Eater. How many people in the world would have a chance to make an Inferi-raising potion in their lifetime? And yet here he was, in the company of the greatest wizard in the world, and in the presence of perhaps the rarest potion ingredient in existence.

"Are these the only four ingredients?" he asked.

"There are more to be added later. And, of course, we will eventually need a corpse, but we are hardly in short supply of those."

Yaxley chortled. The Dark Lord ignored him, reaching his hand, vial clasped tightly in his fingers, over the first vat of potion.

"Prepare yourself, Snape. From here on in, follow my instructions to the letter. Fail, and you all die."

He tipped the vial, pouring a stream of the thick, dark blood into the first potion. The second it hit the contents of the cauldron, the entire concoction turned jet black. Snape expected it to hiss furiously, or boil uncontrollably; the opposite happened. The surface of the potion became totally still, as though it had become a sheet of black glass. Almost immediately afterwards, Snape felt a wave of power hit him. At first, it just made the air feel thick, almost as though he were underwater. However, with every second, the invisible force seemed to grow heavier, weighing down on top of him. It was wrapping all around him, slowly squeezing him, wringing the life from his body. He heard the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass, but his vision was blurring, and he could not see what was happening. He choked softly, tilting gently to one side, soon to collapse as he was dragged gently into the dark.

Suddenly, it was over. He sat bolt upright again, eyes darting around in surprise. What had happened? He looked at the Dark Lord, who had closed his eyes, holding one hand out, fingers spread. Voldemort had contained it, as he said he would.

Snape heard Yaxley coughing and swearing from the ground behind him, having apparently collapsed. Several of the room's chairs and lamps had been victim to the dark energy, and were now lying in pieces on the ground. Everything on the long table, however, seemed intact; Snape wondered if the Dark Lord had given those items priority over Yaxley and himself.

"Add one measure of Asphodel elixir to each cauldron," the Dark Lord said with total calm, eyes still closed. Snape glanced nervously at the vials and containers covering the table. He was able to spot Asphodel by its color, and quickly snatched it, adding it to each potion as instructed. The brews remained totally calm and inky black.

Snape could hear Yaxley behind him, getting back to his feet and returning to his seat. Snape glanced over, and saw that the man had forsaken the _Prophet_ in favor of a large novel he'd produced from somewhere in his robes.

"Two ounces of refined Antimony per potion," the Dark Lord instructed, and Snape quickly turned back to his work. He snatched a set of scales from under the table, using it to weigh out the metallic powder and distribute it.

"One pinch of desiccated and powdered Lethifold skin per potion."

Snape paused for a moment, surprised. He had heard of the Lethifold, a terrible creature from the tropics, but hadn't known that its skin was used as a potions ingredient. He found it easily enough, however, and quickly dolled it out.

"One Valerian Root each," the Dark Lord instructed.

Snape found a container labeled "_Valerian_" at the far end of the table, and yanked the top off. It was empty.

"…You seem to be out, Master," Snape said.

There was a soft thud from behind Snape. Yaxley had dropped his book.

The Dark Lord opened an eye. "There is no Valerian Root." He said.

"Snape showed him the empty container.

"It is one of the most common ingredients," The Dark Lord said coolly. "It should never run out."

"I'm… I'm sorry, my lord," Yaxley said shakily from the other side of he room, having come to his feet. Apparently, it was he who was in charge of keeping the Dark Lord's potion supplies well stocked. "I'll go out right now and get you some more."

"At this time of night, that would require a break-in, and that would take time, which we do not have. So yes, go ahead out. You should have an easy enough time finding me when you return; I shall be the one standing in the massive crater filled with the corpses of my followers and everyone else within several square miles."

Snape almost laughed, but the visual involved was a little too… vivid. The Dark Lord's sarcasm was not delivered amusedly, as though between friends. Every word that the high, cold voice produced showed zero emotion; no sign of anger, yet also no sign of camaraderie or humor. Yaxley, not unreasonably, seemed terrified.

Snape suddenly thought of something. "I have Valerian in my room," he said. "I could go get it.

The Dark Lord opened his other eye, focusing on Snape. Transfixed with that fiery gaze, all Snape could do was stare back.

"Excellent," The Dark Lord was saying. "Yaxley, go up to Snape's room. Get it."

"Yes sir," Yaxley said, voice betraying a mixture of gratitude that the problem was solved and disappointment that he hadn't been the one to solve it. He turned on his heel, disappearing without a sound.

"Well, Severus Snape," the Dark Lord said, "aren't you just full of surprises."

Snape relished in what he could only assume was meant to be a compliment, and considered the Dark Lord with awe. The man had been keeping a massive wave of black magic in check for several minutes now, hand outstretched rigidly in the air, and yet showed no sign of effort.

Yaxley reappeared, mere seconds after he had left. Snape wasn't surprised. He kept his potions kit at the top of his trunk, and it was meticulously organized.

Yaxley carefully handed the container of Valerian roots to Snape, who added one to each potion. They remained unchanged in color and texture.

"Good," The Dark Lord said, though it seemed to apply only to Snape. "Now, one measure of unicorn blood each."

Snape held back a gasp. Dementor's blood may well have been the rarest potion ingredient, but unicorn's blood was widely considered the most evil. It was not the merits of the blood itself that were inclined towards the dark arts; in fact, it was a powerful healing elixir, as good and light magic as any there ever was. However, to harvest unicorn blood, one was forced to harm or even kill one of the world's purest creatures. Doing so was considered a great crime against nature, and against magic itself.

Snape only now noticed a large beaker sitting at the edge of the table, three fourths of the way full with red liquid. It was unlabeled, but Snape knew instantly upon seeing it that it was what he needed. He couldn't help but realize that it contained far more blood than would be lost from a mere flesh wound.

Hand shaking, he reached for the beaker, and poured a measure into each of the jet black potions. Unlike the previous alterations, this had a reaction. Each potion boiled furiously upon the new addition, as though a battle was taking place somewhere deep within. After a full minute, the pools of liquid slowly began to calm down, their furious boiling reducing into a gentle simmer. By this time, all six potions had turned dark red.

"Good," the Dark Lord said, and lowered his hand. He gestured with his wand, and a flask levitated out into the air from somewhere in his robes. Each crucible of Inferi potion rose up and poured its contents into the small flask, which had clearly had an extension charm cast upon it, as by the end of the exercise it contained several quarts of potion. The flask stoppered itself, then drifted back into the Dark Lord's robes.

"Good job, Snape," The Dark Lord said. "And Yaxley, thank you for standing around like a fool. I do not have any Inferi yet, so it is very important that I have you here to fill in for them."

Yaxley, who had become quite pale over the course of the last few minutes, muttered something that sounded like "You're welcome, sir."

"You two are no longer required," The Dark Lord stated.

Snape quickly stood, and he and Yaxley were almost out the door when the high, cold voice rang out again.

"Oh, Yaxley. Take Snape with you tomorrow."

Yaxley spun around, frowning. "But, master… Snape is still… well, the Narcissa Black incident…"

The Dark Lord laughed coldly. "Oh, you mean the incident wherein you let an underage girl join my flock? That incident?"

Yaxley turned paler still, and Snape imagined that, at this rate, he might end up snow white by morning. The big man did not say anything, but nodded grudgingly.

"Well, let us move past that," The Dark Lord said. "Everyone makes mistakes, Yaxley… I am a forgiving man. Of course, some people make two mistakes, and those type don't have much of a future in our organization…"

"Yes, sir," Yaxley said. Voldemort's comment had little room for interpretation.

"Good, good. Off you two go. Do have fun."

The pair walked back to the elevator in silence. Once the doors had shut, Snape spoke, carefully.

"Where are we going tomorrow, then?"

Yaxley glared at him coldly.

"Listen," he said, ignoring the question, "Don't get too full of yourself after what just happened in there. You're good with potions, I'll grant you. But you could never do my job."

"No, sir," Snape said, and he meant it. He didn't want Yaxley's job; it was far too tedious. Besides, he could learn from the Dark Lord's potion skills easily enough in the position he was in now.

"Fine," Yaxley said, gruffly. "Anyway… we're going to Diagon Alley."

"The Dark Lord needs us to buy him something?" Snape asked, lifting a brow.

Yaxley snorted. "No. We're testing the Ministry. We're going to see if a bunch of us can walk down Diagon Alley in broad daylight and not get bothered."

"Dangerous, isn't it?"

Yaxley smirked. "Why, yes."

Snape frowned. It was dangerous, alright, but the Dark Lord had assigned him personally, so he was going. "Who else are you going to bring?" he asked.

"Hrm? Well… Travers, Dolohov, Malfoy, I guess, if the Dark Lord has forgiven him… perhaps some others. Maybe some of our new recruits, even, get them a little field time."

They emerged from the rickety old elevator on the second floor, and headed back for the parlor. Karkaroff had apparently departed, and now two of the chairs in front of the mantel were occupied by Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy. The pair looked up at the new arrivals; Narcissa looked pleased to see Snape, but quickly averted her gaze upon noticing Yaxley.

Yaxley, though, strode towards them. Ever since "the incident", he had been acting as though nothing had happened between them, and, if anything, seemed more cheerful and gabby around the pair than usual. Snape wondered if this was part of some kind of sick joke, or if the man was really insane enough to think that you could torture someone and then go back to being friends with them the day after.

"Lucius! Narcissa! How are you two lovebirds?" Yaxley blared. Narcissa kept her eyes down. Malfoy, however, brought his steely gaze to bear on Yaxley and gave a stiff nod. Yaxley seemed to think this constituted a hearty hello, and plopped down in a chair next to Malfoy.

"I was just telling Severus—we're going on a little field trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow. We're gonna make a day of it. You'll be coming.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"That's right. Dark Lord's orders."

Malfoy looked pleased about this. Narcissa leaned over to him, and the two had a whispered conversation. Yaxley hummed to himself as though he didn't notice, rifling through the pile of books Snape had been inspecting earlier.

"Sir," Malfoy asked carefully, "Do you think Narcissa could come with us?"

"Now, Lucius, you know she can't leave here until she comes of age. Remember? _We discussed it_."

Malfoy looked as though he was going to object, but Yaxley's last comment seemed to break his resolve.

"What if…" Narcissa said, shakily, "What if I don't bring my wand?"

"How can I trust you, dear? Unless you'd want me to search you…"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, and he looked like he might spring up and attempt to outdraw Yaxley. However, Narcissa's hand quickly gripped his thigh, and he took the signal, settling back down into the chair.

"Perhaps," Narcissa tried again, "I could bring you my wand, and you could—"

"Sure," Yaxley said, cutting her off. "Fine, fine. Go get it."

Narcissa grinned, and ran out of the room. Yaxley watched her go, then went back to inspecting the pile of books. Apparently, he found something that interested him, because he took a pair of reading glasses out of his robe, propped them on his nose, and started reading one of the older looking tomes.

Snape wandered over to Malfoy and sat down in Narcissa's chair. "Are you two recovering alright?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes," Malfoy responded, "We both seem to be as good as new, thanks to that potion you gave us. Listen…" Snape knew what was coming. He expected that Malfoy felt a little freer to express gratitude without Narcissa around, though she herself had been thanking Snape every five minutes since the night he had helped them. "You saved my life," Malfoy went on. "That Bellatrix… she's insane. You did the right thing, and you didn't have to. It… I won't forget, Snape."

"Don't worry about it," Snape said, unsure of what else to say.

They two men sat back and reflected for several minutes, the crackling of the flames and Yaxley's occasional page-turning the only sounds to break the silence.

"Do you think this means we won't get invited to the wedding?" Malfoy asked.

"God, I hope so," Snape responded, and Malfoy smirked.

Narcissa reappeared, and marched over to Yaxley with her wand. It was long, thin, and white, probably made of yew. Yaxley set down his book and looked up at her.

She held out her wand.

"Alright… you hold on to it, sir, and I'll get it back when I—"

As she spoke, Yaxley took the item from her, inspecting it briefly with a look of interest on his face. Apparently satisfied, he took a firm grip on the wand with both hands, and, with a sickening crunch, snapped the thing in half. Narcissa stopped mid-sentence. Snape's heart plummeted, and next to him, Malfoy gasped.

Yaxley smiled, still holding the wand in one hand. The snapped end of it hung limply, suspended by the now revealed unicorn hair that was the wand's core.

Narcissa's eyes were full of tears. Yaxley might as well have cut off her arm.

"But…" She moaned. "I just… you could have just kept it… until I came of age… I got that when I was eleven years old…"

Yaxley shrugged, and threw the shattered wand past her and into the fire. Narcissa spun and stared after it. It looked for a second as though she was considering diving in to retrieve it.

"You can go on missions now, Narcissa, including the one tomorrow," Yaxley said, sounding frank for once. "There was a price you had to pay to regain that privilege, and you have now paid it. Keep in mind that you can't use anyone else's wand for magic, either. Oh, and no wandless casting; keep your emotions in check. If you do cast magic before you turn seventeen, Narcissa, I will kill you myself, but not before making you watch the Dark Lord do something to your little boyfriend worse than you can even conceive of. "

Narcissa's face was burning now with rage, tears lining her cheeks. At the mention of Malfoy, however, her eyes widened with fear.

"And remember," Yaxley continued, giving advice as though he considered himself a father figure, "Without magic, you're basically defenseless, and you're an extra weight on your friends. You can go on missions, but you should weigh the pros and cons involved, especially in terms of the more dangerous outings."

He smiled serenely and nodded, as though he had just done her a great favor, before returning to his book.

Narcissa turned away from him, seemingly unable to decide between sobbing with grief and screaming with rage. Snape began to get up to give her his seat, but she walked right by him and crumpled into Malfoy's lap. Malfoy held her tightly, rubbing the back of her hand as she trembled, trying to help her regain her composure. It worked. No more than a minute had passed when she forced herself back to her feet, gently pulling Malfoy after her, and headed for the door. As they exited, Narcissa stared daggers into the back of Yaxley's chair. However, when she made eye contact with Snape, she forced a smile. The doors swung shut behind them.

Yaxley flipped a page in his book. "Kids these days," he said, not looking up.


	7. Chapter 7

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 7**_

Snape woke up to a pounding head, a dry mouth, and an overall feeling that, despite getting several hours of sleep, he'd had virtually no rest. This was hardly foreign to him; he hadn't slept well in years. After first arriving at the hotel, Snape had hoped that being in the Dark Lord's presence would help him sleep better, and, for a while, it had. But that had left him, now, and once again he woke up every morning feeling as terrible as ever.

Snape lay in bed for some time, trying to convince himself to get up. It took a knock at the door to motivate him to accomplish the task. He pulled on his robe, then ambled over to the door and swung it open. Travers strode in. He had a satchel over his right shoulder, and his left hand was layered thickly with bandages.

"Snape! How'd you sleep?"

"Fine," Snape lied. "Yourself?"

"Oh, you know, same as always."

Snape stared uncomfortably, unsure of what else to say.

"Well, look, I have a favor to ask," Travers said, finally.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I heard you're real good at potions, right? Even helped the Dark Lord out with some brewing a few nights ago?"

Snape suppressed a laugh. It figured that a story which Yaxley hadn't wanted to get out was making its way around the Death Eater gossip circuit within just a few days.

"Yeah, I guess," Snape said.

"Well, great. Do you think you could brew me some Felix Felicis?"

Snape raised a brow. Suddenly, the bandage on Travers' hand made sense. Snape had worn a similar one for a week or so during his fourth year at school. That kind of bandage signified that its owner had tried to make a potion far above their skill level, resulting in a cauldron explosion. Snape had worn his after his first attempt at trying to brew Veritaserum. His hand had been pretty badly burnt, and he had to stay overnight in the hospital. Lily and come to stay with him.

He shook his head, dispelling the memories. "I suppose," he said. "I've only made it a few times. How much do you need?"

Travers, grinning now, opened up the satchel and took out two empty one-liter flasks.

"This much worth, if possible."

Snape's eyes widened. "That's going to be quite expensive… what do you need so much for?"

"Erm," Travers said, avoiding eye contact. "Personal use."

"I see," Snape said.

"All the ingredients you'll need are in this bag, Snape, so you don't have to worry about cost."

"Alright. I may as well get started now, I suppose… but it won't be done for months."

Travers looked almost giddy. "Great! Great. Hey, I owe you one, Snape."

"Sure," Snape said, and began sorting items out of the satchel. Travers turned to leave. Though Snape knew he should remain silent, his conscience started to gnaw at him. He found himself speaking up just before Travers had shut the door behind him.

"Travers?"

"Yeah, Snape?"

"You know, some people abuse this potion. They start taking it every day, and build a tolerance. Worse still, they stop being able to produce their own luck. They can't even operate without taking Felix Felicis every morning. It's… not good."

Travers smirked. "I'll keep that in mind, Snape."

Snape worked for hours; it was quite a task to successfully brew so much Felix Felicis, an exceptionally difficult potion to make. Once he'd finally gotten the potion simmering, he glanced at the clock, and was shocked by the time. He needed to head downstairs.

Formed up in the hotel lobby was quite a congregation of Death Eaters. Yaxley, Travers, Karkaroff, Dolohov, the Lestrange Brothers, the Black sisters, and Malfoy. As Snape joined the group, Travers tapped him on the shoulder, raising a brow inquisitively.

"It's underway," Snape said. "I'll have it ready as soon as I can…"

Travers grinned. "I owe you one, Snape. Really."

"Alright," Yaxley announced loudly before Snape could reply, "The gang's all here. Now, has everyone been to the bathroom? And does everyone remember who their buddy is? If we have an uneven number, I could get Mulciber down here to be someone's buddy. Narcissa, maybe. I bet Mulciber'd love to get to know you, eh?"

Narcissa shuddered, Bellatrix and Travers both cackling softly at the juvenile humor.

"Alright," Yaxley said, a bit more seriously. "Diagon Alley. Let's go."

Before they could apparate, however, two figures appeared in front of them. Half of the group had wands drawn before the slightly taller of the pair, his hands up, could say a word.

"Hey, hey! We're friends! I'm Avery! This is my son! We've been operating for the Dark Lord in the north!"

"Oh," Yaxley said, sounding almost disappointed as he put his wand away. "Yeah, I remember you. What do you want?"

Snape made eye contact with the younger Avery, who he'd gone to school with. The thick man nodded back, looking as bored as ever, if a bit sweaty.

"Our office was raided," Avery senior said, clearly quite distressed. "They got the others, including Lestrange."

Rodolphus stepped foreword, interrupting Yaxley, who had been opening his mouth to say something. "They got my dad!? Is he okay? We have to go rescue him!"

"The Dark Lord and Lestrange are old friends," Avery senior said reassuringly. "I'm sure he'll mount a mission to free him from Azkaban very soon."

"Eh," Yaxley said, "I kind of doubt it. Lestrange has seen better days. I doubt the Dark Lord will think that freeing him justifies any real commitment of resources."

Rodolphus looked like he'd have very much liked to punch Yaxley in the face, but Bellatrix grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back. Snape hoped that he wasn't about to witness a fight between the two in which Bellatrix insisted that the Dark Lord could leave Rodolphus' father to rot if he saw fit to do so.

Yaxley, however, was apparently in a rush. "Alright, fine. You two are coming with us to Diagon Alley."

"What?" Avery senior asked, clearly disoriented. "Why are we going to Diagon Alley?"

"Testing the waters, dammit, and that is the last time I explain it. Let's go."

Yaxley disapparated on the spot. Avery senior, looking tired but also resigned to his work, followed after, and so too did the rest of them.

They came out in the middle of Diagon Alley, standing on the sun-baked cobblestones. It was late afternoon on a weekday, and the district wasn't particularly crowded. The few shoppers that were present began making hasty exits when they noticed the mass of black robed figures.

Yaxley led the group to what appeared to be a brand new building. Its colorful sign revealed that it was home to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The Death Eaters clamored into a large outdoor seating area, lounging around tables shaded by giant parasols. A woman who Snape assumed was Florean Fortescue emerged, looking so nervous that it was amazing she was able to stand up. She quietly approached Travers.

"Can I… help you, sirs?"

Travers glanced at her boredly. "Cup of tea."

"Certainly, sir… that'd be three knuts…"

Travers laughed in her face. "Three knuts? Go make some tea, you enormously stupid girl, before I murder you and your entire family."

The look on Fortescue's face suggested that she was barely able to resist fainting, and she hurried back to the main building.

"Oh, hey, I want a sundae!" Rodolphus called after her.

Snape sighed, running a hand through his matted hair. This was all a tad surreal; Death Eaters at an ice cream parlour. He had sat at a table with Rodolphus, Bellatrix, Rabastan, Malfoy, and Narcissa. Tensions had finally calmed down enough for Malfoy and Narcissa to make eye contact with Bellatrix without looking as though they wanted to throttle her.

"So," Rodolphus said cheerily, "The wedding is set for two weeks from Sunday. You're all invited!"

"Snivelus Snape is _not_ invited," Bellatrix said coldly.

Narcissa snickered. "Wow, Bella, borrowing terms from our disgraced traitor of a cousin? I didn't know you and he were so close."

Bellatrix looked stunned that her own sister had presented the counter-insult that Snape had always used in the past. Lucius laughed, and Snape allowed himself a brief smile.

"You know, Sev," Rodolphus said, ignoring everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds, "don't you think it's time you think about settling down? Bella has got another sister, maybe you and her could get together."

Bellatrix and Narcissa snorted in disgust in perfect unison, then looked away in embarrassment, apparently disgusted that they agreed on something.

"She's currently, erm, seeing a mudblood," Malfoy said in a low voice, and Rodolphus turned red for having made the suggestion.

"It's a stupid idea anyway, Rodolphus," Narcissa said. "Sev should get together with a girl he knows already. What about that girl from school, Sev? Lily Evans?"

"Erm…" Snape stammered, "What about her?"

"Lucius says you used to be close friends, and I always saw you looking at her during dinner…"

"Erm," Snape said.

"She's a mudblood," Malfoy said matter-of-factly, sipping on a cup of tea that the terrified host had presented to him.

"Oh, she is? Jeez, Severus, what's wrong with you?" Narcissa asked, though there was no real cruelty in her voice.

"I'm not surprised," Bellatrix chimed in. "He's always seemed like a mudblood lover to me. He's only a halfsie himself, you know"

"You guys are all nuts," Rodolphus said, rolling his eyes. "She never meant anything to him. Right, Sev?"

"Of course she did," Narcissa insisted. "Here, look. Sev, what color are Lily's eyes?"

_Green_, Snape thought.

"How should I know?" he said.

"See?" Rodolphus said triumphantly. "He doesn't give a shi—"

Yaxley's booming voice chimed out from the next table, interrupting their conversation. For this, Snape was incredibly thankful.

"Listen up, everyone," Yaxley was saying. "We're all gonna stay put until the Aurors or the Order of the Phoenix show up. When and if they get here, we're gonna fight. I want most of you to disperse, make them come after you. We can maximize property damage that way. Me, I'm going to face them down head on. I want two of you flanking me."

He looked around briefly, no doubt wondering who he'd have the most fun putting into danger. "Ah, the Averys. You'll do. You'll be taking point with me."

"But…" stammered Avery senior before trailing off, apparently coming to the conclusion that there was no point in protesting any further. Snape rather felt for the man, who was by far the oldest person present.

Narcissa sighed. "This could be a long wait, guys. I doubt anyone's coming for us."

Alastor Moody was not pleased. He growled audibly as he stared at the massive bulletin board which occupied the wall next to his desk. Tacked all over it were the files of Ministry employees, each complete with a photograph of the individual in question. Moody was getting intensely tired of all those faces smiling down at him. He scanned each photo, saying the name of each person to himself before moving on. By the time he finally found the mole, he reckoned, he'd know every single person employed by the Ministry, from the Minister of Magic on down to the fellow who cleaned the toilets on the Atrium level. He shook his head and grunted. He had been carefully considering the files on the board for the past week, and hadn't been able to find any real reason to suspect any of these people as traitors.

Well, that eliminated about a dozen possibilities, anyway. Now all he had to do was deal with the stack of five times as many files sitting on his desk. A month of this, and virtually no progress.

_Who are you?_ Moody wondered. _Why can't I find you? _

With a sigh, he decided for what must have been the fiftieth time that month to start over from the beginning. The Ministry employed several hundred people. Maybe half of them would be handling the kind of information that the mole seemed able to obtain. Of those, only a handful had any link to Voldemort. But Moody had interviewed everyone from that handful several times. He'd caught one of them for embezzlement. Two more broke down under interrogation, revealing that they'd been stealing office supplies. But passing information to Voldemort? Moody grunted again.

_I've got no goddamn clue._

A head popped up over the wall of Moody's large cubicle. Moody had to suppress the impulse to spin on his heel and blast the intruder with a Stupefication jinx. As any Auror who had ever worked with Moody could tell you, that habit had taken years to kick, and few were the co-workers of Moody who hadn't found themselves locked in a full-body bind after accidentally sneaking up on him. If you were going to work for the Auror's Office, you had to develop a kind of humor about this kind of thing.

Moody glanced at the head floating over the partition. It was Kingsley Shaklebolt, his assistant, and one of the youngest people to ever be accepted into the department. Moody mostly had him make coffee.

"Shaklebolt? Shouldn't you be out at the playground?"

"Mhmm, hilarious, sir. Crouch wants you to know that he's going to put you on probation if you miss any more paperwork."

Moody growled. "I wouldn't be missing my paperwork if you'd just do it all, like I told you to."

"That'd be dishonest, sir," Kingsley said, smirking.

"Yeah, well, no one ever caught any Dark Wizards filling out paperwork. If Crouch wants to put me on probation, so be it."

He turned back to the files on his desk nonchalantly. He heard Kingsley groan, but knew that the young man would stay up all night finishing the backlogged work. _Good kid, that one,_ Moody thought.

Moody jabbed a meaty hand at one of the photographs hanging on the bulletin board. "Him. Erm, Donald Weber. Magical Games and Sporting. I've got a feeling the information might be coming out of there. Bring him to me, I want another interview."

"That could be a problem, sir."

"Eh?"

"He's dead. They found him this morning, house was a mess. Dark Mark was present."

Moody grunted. He wished it wasn't so easy to take such information in stride, but this kind of report had become so common lately…

"Well, I suppose he's not the leak, then. Or, if he was, he's not anymore."

"I suppose not, sir."

Moody pulled the photo and file off the board, tossing them into the dustbin.

"I could bring you Ludo Bagman, if you want, he worked closely with Weber."

"No, I've interviewed Bagman four times, and he knows about as little about the leak as he does about… well, any other subject."

Kingsley snickered. Bagman gaining his position by being a former famous athlete hadn't exactly made him popular around the Ministry.

"Oh," Shaklebolt added, "Payroll sent an airplane up. They want Rookwood's file. Are you done with it?"

Moody stopped what he was doing and glanced at the lone file sitting on the top shelf of his desk. Augustus Rookwood. Rookwood had had a run in with the Death Eaters just days before the new leak had sprung up. But Moody had interviewed him six times, and even though his story seemed a little off, Rookwood didn't seem to be lying. He also wasn't in the Department of Sports and Gaming. Moody grunted.

"Did you ask Crouch about letting me use Veritaserum?"

"He says it's a good idea, but it's not currently legal. He's going to push for it next time he sees the Minister."

"Hrm. I guess that's something."

"Aren't the Sneakoscopes good enough? God knows you have enough of them."

Moody glared at Kingsley. There was no such thing as too many Sneakoscopes.

"No," he said, "A good enough liar will fool a Sneakoscope every time. Hell, Veritaserum probably won't even work… there are plenty of ways to get around it, and someone as skillful with potions as Voldemort will know all of them."

There wasn't any response. He glanced up at Kingsley, who was grimacing. There were a lot of upset exclamations coming from outside the cubicle.

"That name, sir…" Kingsley said.

"That's his name, people!" Moody roared. "Voldemort! Get used to it! I'm not scared to say it, and neither should you be! You're Aurors, for God's sake!"

Kingsley rolled his eyes, no doubt thinking about how much trouble he'd have smoothing this little incident over. Moody felt a bit of gratitude. He'd probably have been out on the street long ago if he didn't have Kingsley around to explain away his outbursts.

Granted, that feeling of gratitude didn't mean he'd stop making outbursts. If anything, Kingsley being around meant he was free to say whatever he wanted.

His eyes found that lone file again. Augustus Rookwood. It was time to make a decision.

"You can take it," he said, finally. "It's not Rookwood."

Kingsley nodded, coming around the wall and into the office and grabbing the file.

"You're going to payroll?" Moody asked.

"Aye, sir."

"I'll go with you. But we'll need to send an owl off first."

"Why's that?"

"Well, to check with your mommy that it's okay. And we'll want her to send you your toothbrush and your jammies."

"Honestly, sir, every time you make a slight variation of that same joke, it just gets funnier and funnier."

"Mhmm, agreed."

"What do you need at Payroll, sir?"

Would you believe that on my last paycheck, the bastards charged me for property damage?"

"You did go a bit far chasing that Death Eater, sir. The owner of the potions shop claimed 800 Galleons of damages after the duel."

"Well I caught the bastard, didn't I?"

They had left Moody's alcove, and were now headed down a long row of cubicles. Near the end, a head maned with fiery red hair appeared over a partition. It was Rufus Scrimgeour, and he was grinning. Moody grinned back. He knew that Kingsley and the other younger Aurors liked to joke that Scrimgeour and Moody were such good friends because they both looked about twenty years older than they really were.

"Alastor!" Scrimgeour hollered "Guess who caught the elder Letrange this morning!"

Moody grinned. "You son of a bitch! I had dibs on him. Did he survive the encounter?"

"Aye, I barely touched him. He's not doing so well health-wise, though. He won't last long in Azkaban."

"Good riddance," Moody grunted.

"You know what this means though, eh?"

"What's that?'

"It means that I'm at seventy-four captures, which puts me ahead of you."

Moody snorted. "That'd be because half of your captures are old men like Lestrange. You leave all the hard ones for me."

"Keep telling yourself that, Alas—"

One of the many devices hidden in Moody's coat began emitting a high-pitched whine, cutting off Scrimgeour and causing an aide passing them to drop a pot of coffee, which shattered on the carpet.

Scrimgeour was covering his ears. "What does that one signify, Alastor?"

"That," Moody said, unable to contain his grin, "Means that my contact at Diagon Alley has spotted Death Eaters. The dumb bastards have made their move!"

Scrimgeour's eyes widened. He threw himself over the partition, brown Auror's robes swirling around him.

"What!? That's big! Let's go!"

"My thoughts exactly. Go round up all the senior Aurors. No one with less than five years of experience."

Kingsley was about to protest, but Moody cut him off.

"No, Kingsley, it's too dangerous for you. But I have a job needs doing. Get to a fireplace, and take the floo network to Dumbledore. Tell him what's going on."

Kingsley nodded sharply and turned on his heel, headed for the elevators.

"Wait!" Scrimgeour cried, causing Kingsley to stop in his tracks. "Damn it, Alastor, have you forgotten that you're an Auror? You answer to the Ministry, not to Albus Dumbledore. Telling civilians about this is highly inappropriate."

Moody shook his head. "Without the Order, Scrimgeour, we don't stand a bloody chance in hell. There's more to life than the Ministry, especially these days. You'll get that, eventually."


	8. Chapter 8

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 8**_

In only minutes, Moody, Scrimgeour, and seven other senior Aurors had gathered on the Atrium Level.

Moody turned to them all, taking his wand out and gesturing with it for emphasis. "You listen to me, boys! This is a big one! I don't know how many of them we can expect, but I'm thinking plenty! Don't let your guards down! Show mercy, but not weakness! Take not a step backwards, but be sure that all your steps forward are careful ones! And always, always remember; _constant vigilance_!"

There was an enthusiastic cheer, and one by one, the Aurors apparated to Diagon Alley.

They were standing under the awning of Gringott's bank. Upon arrival, Moody was prepared to immediately issue orders to begin a search. This turned out to be unnecessary. Sitting in the outdoor area of an ice cream parlor not fifty meters from them, twelve Death Eaters were present. They were lounging carelessly, but at least one of them was on top of things, because he pointed a shrouded arm in the direction of Aurors and yelled a warning. The gang of Death Eaters had, within seconds, hoisted themselves over the railings around the seating area. Most of them ran off for cover, no doubt preferring a more discrete fighting approach. A few of them, however, marched confidently forward. All twelve of them had thrown their hoods up.

"Let's make them build a new wing for Azkaban!" Scrimgeour roared, and the brown-robed Aurors charged forward, firing a dazzling fireworks display of Stupefication jinxes. Moody, pounding the cobbles at full speed, hadn't bothered. The Death Eaters were no slouches, and had cast shielding charms on themselves, causing the stunning spells to bounce right off.

The Death Eater's return attack was a bit more impressive than mere Stupefication. Two of them fired bright green Death Curses, and though Moody was too focused on his charge to know whether either of them had hit anyone, he did hear a scream from one of his men. The Death Eater in the middle, larger than the other two, spun his wand in the air, producing a bright orange flame. He immediately began weaving it into a massive inferno, and within seconds, a wall of churning fire, aglow with dark magical spirits, was bearing down on the Aurors.

"_Protego Horribilis_!" Moody growled, and threw himself directly into the flames, his powerful incantation protecting him from the Dark Magic. He came out the other side running, slamming directly into the big Death Eater, who collapsed under Moody's substantial weight. The hood dropped off, and Moody knew immediately that this was the man known only as Yaxley. The Ministry had precious little information on him, but he was apparently a very adept Dark Wizard. The Fiend Fire spell he had just incanted, so far as Moody was aware, hadn't been used since Grindewald's capture in 1945.

In addition to being powerful in the Dark Arts, Yaxley was physically strong. He pushed Moody off, stumbling to his feet and taking off at a run for an alley between two small shops. Moody charged after him, his coat on fire in several places, though thankfully the dark aspect of the flame seemed to have been nullified.

He turned into the alley only seconds after Yaxley, and shot stunning spell after stunning spell at the man's back. They bounced harmlessly into the air; a powerful shielding charm seemed to be in effect. Growling, Moody pondered his other alternatives. He spotted a rusty fire escape hanging off the side of the leftmost building about twenty feet in front of Yaxley's current position.

_Perfect._

Raising his wand, he cast the Reductor curse with all the power he could manage, blowing a huge portion of brick out of the wall. The already unstable fire escape, wrought from cast iron, plummeted off the side of the building and down onto Yaxley just as he was passing under it.

The crash was terrible. Yaxley's screaming was worse. Moody strode up to the twisted mess of brick and metal, and quickly spotted the Death Eater, whose right arm was hidden under a pile of debris. He glared at Moody, face covered in cuts and bruises.

"The Dark Lord will make you pay for this, blood traitor!"

Moody rolled his eyes. He was getting rather used to that threat. He raised his wand.

"_Stupefy_!" he yelled.

"_Protego_!" Yaxley responded in kind, and the stunning spell bounced off its target and into the wall.

Moody growled, and fired off another stunning spell. Yaxley, spitting blood as he did, cast another shielding charm, a look of pure spite on his face.

Moody shook his head. "We're going to have to do this the hard way, are we?"

"Looks like it, mudblood," spat the Death Eater.

Suddenly, though, Moody heard a scream that he recognized—and it was no Auror. Glancing one last time at Yaxley, he growled, then turned and ran back out onto the main street. Yelling, screaming, and the hiss of spells sizzling through the air sounded all throughout the district. Moody looked down at a sobbing mess of a young woman, fiery red hair in tangles. Young Molly Prewett. It looked like the Order had gotten his message.

"Molly! This is no place for you!" Moody growled, picking her up carefully and carrying her to a bench.

She looked up at him tearfully. "I thought I was ready, Alastor… Fabian and Gideon said I was as good as they were in a fight… guess they were wrong. That terrible woman hit me with the Cruciatus Curse, and… and they, Gideon and Fabian, distracted the Death Eaters away from me. Oh, God, Alastor, They're outnumbered! You have to help them!"

Moody nodded. "Aye, I shall. But you listen, Molly, you need to disapparate out of here. Tell Dumbledore we need more help, that he needs to come himself, if he can."

Molly didn't protest. She nodded resolutely, stood, and, taking a quick turn, disappeared. Moody immediately set off down the street at a run, listening for the voices of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. It didn't take long.

He turned into a huge alley, the one that separated Gringott's from The Daily Prophet Building. Thirty meters in, the Prewett brothers were crouched next to one another, a struggling shield charm protecting them from curse after curse being shot off by a semi-circle of five Death Eaters. Moody quickly identified the culprits. Antonin Dolohov, Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix Black, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Igor Karkaroff. Fabian shot off a well-aimed stunning spell, knocking Rabastan Lestrange into a wall. Gideon followed up with a jinx of his own, hitting Black full on with a full body bind curse. There were just too many opponents, however. Moody, running at full speed towards them, saw both men finally crumple, hit by stunning spells cast by Karkaroff and Dolohov. The fall of their bodies, however, meant that Moody now had a clear line of sight to the Death Eaters. And Moody was upset.

"_Repulso_!" He yelled, and shot Karkaroff back down the alley, where he crumpled to the ground. Moody spun on his heel and blasted Rodolphus Lestrange with the same spell, then fired a stunning spell haphazardly at Dolohov. He grabbed Gideon and Fabian by their collars and dragged them towards the main street, putting ground between them and the Death Eaters. He didn't have time to finish all five enemies off. He'd needed a stopgap solution.

He pointed his thick wand at the side of Gringott's, and, channeling as much power as he could, cast the Reductor Curse. A heaping avalanche of brick crumbled down, clogging up the alleyway, and separating Moody and his charges from the disgruntled but disheveled Death Eaters—perhaps even crushing a few of them. Moody cast the same curse on the side of the Daily Prophet building, insuring that the wall of rubble was built up too high for the Death Eaters to pass over without using magic. If they tried apparating, he could pick them off one by one as they appeared.

He turned to the gently stirring but still unconscious Prewett brothers. "I've got you," he said gruffly. "You're fine, you're fine."

"Not quite," came a cold, thickly accented voice. Moody's eyes shot wide open. Dolohov. He must have hidden in the shadows—

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Dolohov yelled, and Moody crumbled into a sitting position, his extremities stuck in place.

All he could do was watch as Dolohov strode into view. He was a square-jawed man with a cold, unsmiling face. Moody knew that he was wanted overseas for numerous instances of murder and torture of muggles.

Dolohov looked at Moody, cocking his head. "Alastor Moody. I thank you for making this nice wall. The other four are in no shape to come over and interrupt us, and I do enjoy having some privacy with my victims."

Moody felt a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to move his arms and legs, but the limbs did not respond. The best he could do was painstakingly exercising his tongue, slowly regaining the ability to speak.

Dolohov had turned away from him to face the Prewetts. Moody would have done anything to be able to stop what was going to happen, but he just couldn't move. He focused every part of his will into his right hand, attempting to move grasp with his fingers; attempting to move his arm, inch by inch, towards his boot.

Moody had caught dozens of Dark Wizards in his career, and had accumulated quite a collection of captured wands, which was a standard practice for Aurors. For Moody, however, these captured wands were not mere trophies. Each one obeyed him now, and he had placed them carefully all over his office, all over his home, and, since the incident wherein he had been left wandless and ended up accidentally beating a Dark Wizard to death, all over his person. He had four wands currently stashed away on him. The most assessable one for his current situation was stuck in his boot. If he could reach it, he could utter a counter curse, free himself, and then, well…

It would be a bad day for Dolohov.

He was surprised, however, when he heard what Dolohov was doing to the Prewetts. Waving his wand over the brothers, Dolohov mumbled "_Rennervate_" under his breath, effectively curing their stupefication. Both of them sat up, quite groggily, and then attempted to stumble to their feet upon sighting Dolohov.

The Death Eater causally pointed his wand at Gideon Prewett. "_Imperio_," he uttered, and Gideon suddenly froze, standing stock still. Fabian had stopped as well, and was staring at his brother in confusion.

"Take his wand," Dolohov said, and Gideon did so instantly, snatching Fabian's wand.

"Destroy it," Dolohov ordered. Gideon did, snapping the wand several times before dropping the shattered remains to the ground, torn dragon heartstring apparent among the wooden shards.

Fabian slowly backed away from his brother, terrified. The massive wall of debris loomed behind him, blocking any chance of escape. Moody kept trying to grab the wand out of his boot, but didn't have anything like the dexterity to get it yet. He'd have to try something else.

"Gideon!" he shouted, using considerable will-power to get his mouth to work, "You're strong enough to stop him! Get him out of your head! You can take control back!"

Fabian's back had hit the rubble. He stood there, naked without his wand, staring into the cloudy eyes of his brother.

"Slice your brother's fingers off," Dolohov said. Gideon raised his wand.

"No!" Moody yelled. "Fabian, you've got to fight back! Your brother would want you to save your own life! Grab one of those rocks, Fabian! Fight back!"

Dolohov had finally taken notice of Moody again, and was bringing his wand around. Moody's eyes darted back to Fabian, who was making no move to defend himself.

"Fabian! Gideon! I'll tell Molly that you died as heroes! I'll tell h—"

"_Stupefy_." Dolohov said.

Snape sat panting behind a bench, red light flashing overhead. He'd been exchanging jinxes with an Auror for what seemed like forever. At the moment, he had very little knowledge of the current situation in Diagon Alley; the only other Death Eaters he could see were Lucius and Narcissa, huddled in the courtyard of a small business. Lucius was shielding the wandless Narcissa with his body, blasting curses at any Auror who dared come anywhere near them.

Snape was getting frustrated. Bursting to his feet, he slashed with his wand.

"_Sectumsempra_!"

The Auror's wand fell to the ground in two pieces, and a good bit of blood went with it. He screamed, clenching his hand, and with one last look at Snape, he ran for it. Snape grinned triumphantly, and he heading further down the street, half-heartedly looking for a new target. He noticed that there seemed to be a few non-Aurors running around; the Order of the Phoenix must have shown up at some point. He knew very little about these people. Who were they? What was their motivation?

He rounded the corner that led into Knockturn Alley. It was quieter here; he could hear only one isolated duel taking place. After taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to Knockturn Alley's dim lighting, he was able to spot the two figures involved. The Death Eater was Travers, who looked to be bleeding, and was now backing away from his opponent. The enemy wasn't an Auror; it was a man dressed in civilian robes. He had messy black hair, and a pair of round glasses sat on his nose.

James Potter.

Travers backed into Snape, spinning around in shock.

"Snape! Christ, you scared me!"

"Yes. Listen… I'll take care of this one. You're hurt, best go fix it up."

Travers nodded, gratified. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Snape."

He disappeared down Diagon Alley. Seconds later, a stunning spell slammed into the spot where he had been standing, rattling the street sign that marked the intersection of Diagon and Knockturn. Snape slowly approached James Potter, wand raised.

Potter had stopped firing curses, and was now staring back at Snape, apparently a bit surprised.

"Snivelus?" he said, finally.

Rage choked Snape's mind. He felt a black fist close over his heart, and squeeze it. He had never been angrier in his life.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" he screamed, a jet of green hell blazing at Potter. The skinny man dodged just in time.

Potter rolled upon hitting the ground, bringing his own wand up. "_Confringo_!" he yelled. Snape ducked, the jinx going over his head and slamming into a kiosk, which violently exploded. A piece of debris slammed into the back of Snape's head, fogging his vision. He felt warm blood ooze down his scalp. "_Protego_!" He managed to say, stumbling from side to side in an attempt to make himself harder to hit. He heard Potter cast a stinging jinx, which bounced off Snape's shield, obliterating it in the process.

Snape regained enough orientation to target Potter. "_Serpensorti_!" He screamed, and a massive snake burst forth from his wand, landing with a thud in front of his opponent. Potter seemed thrown, backing slowly away from the serpent, which was hissing fiercely. Snape grinned, heart full of malice now that he had regained the upper hand. "_Oppugno_," he said coldly, waving his wand at the snake. It immediately became much more aggressive, darting forward at Potter and biting him hard in the leg, injecting him with its venom.

Potter hissed in pain, stumbling into the wall. He managed to point his wand at the snake. "_Relashio_!" he screamed, his wand blasting fiery sparks that threw the seprent sliding across the street. Now he stumbled towards Snape, his leg no doubt swelling terribly beneath him.

"Is that the best you can do, Snivelus?" he cried, firing off another devastating but poorly aimed exploding spell, obliterating a bench to Snape's right.

"Not even close," Snape hissed. "_Conjunctus_," he uttered. Potter's eyes clouded over. He was blind. He took off his glasses in confusion, but this did nothing to improve his vision. He could do little more than stumble around, groping the air, venom coursing through his veins.

"You… face me like a man, Snape! Going to let animals do all your fighting for you? Going to attack a blind man?"

Snape sneered, pacing quietly around Potter, who could clearly barely stand.

"Few of the things you ever did to me at Hogwarts were fair, Potter. You should be glad that I am allowing you to die in solitude, without dozens of people to laugh at your plight. It is more mercy than you ever granted me."

He slashed downward with his wand. "_Sectumsempra_!" he hissed, injecting every ounce of his hatred into that one word.

Potter screamed as his chest opened up, a torrent of blood splashing onto Snape's face and robes. Snape relished it. It wet his cheeks, his lips. Potter had collapsed onto his back, twitching. The spell had cut open the skin of his torso, and had sliced a deep gouge into his sternum, but he wasn't mortally wounded. Not yet.

Snape raised his wand. "Goodbye, Potter."

But before he could say another word, there was a crash from behind him. He spun, and stepped out of the way just as Igor Karkaroff came stumbling by, collapsing onto the ground. He had clearly been hit by a powerful Confundus curse, and was bleeding from several wounds.

"Severus," Karkaroff moaned, about to pass out, "Watch out… she is good."

"_Stupefy_!" cried a female voice from the end of the street, and Snape just managed to step out of the way of the red flash.

He spun and ran towards the new opponent, angry that they had interrupted him during a task of such relish.

He stopped dead when he was finally able to clearly see her face.

When Moody awoke, his eyelids were still heavy. It was an effort to lift them, and when he did, he wished he hadn't.

The Prewett brothers lay dead before him, in pieces. It hadn't been fast. He could tell by the look of them. It had been slow. It may have taken hours, as he had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He looked down at himself. A good portion of the Prewett's blood had been splashed on him. A good portion of the Prewett's blood had been splashed everywhere.

Except for Dolohov. Dolohov had somehow managed to remain immaculate. And he was now standing directly before Moody, no doubt responsible for waking him up. Moody tried to reach the wand. No good. A fresh body bind had been cast on him.

"Alastor Moody," Dolohov said. "All the other Death Eaters are afraid of you. Do you think I am afraid of you?"

Moody tried to growl a string of the ugliest curses he could think of, but couldn't even move his tongue, much less open his mouth.

"I know you cannot answer, Alastor. But in a few minutes, you will be able to talk. And that means you will be able to scream. And I want to see how much the world's most famous Auror screams before he dies."

Lily Evans stood at the intersection of Diagon and Knockturn, staring at Snape. Snape, with his Dark Mark. Snape, in his black robes.

"S…Sev?"

Her eyes slowly trailed further down the street and found Potter, lying in a pool of his own blood.

"I… oh, oh Christ!" she screamed, and she ran forward, right past Snape, crouching down over Potter and cradling his head in her lap.

"_Episkey_!" she cried hoarsely, pointing her wand at the gash in Potter's chest. Nothing happened. She looked at Snape, terror showing on her face. "What did you do to him!? Why won't it heal!?"

"It can't be healed," Snape said coldly. "And I wouldn't heal him if I could. He earned this. He bought this with seven years of cruelty."

"And this is your solution!?" She screamed, shaking with rage or grief, Snape could not tell which. "You had a hard time at school, so you become a murderer!? You find my fiancé, and you try to kill him!?"

"He came here to fight us!" Snape screamed. "I didn't find him, he found me! I did nothing wrong! He got what he deserved! He—" Snape stopped, gasping for air. Wait… what had she said?

_Fiancé?_

"You're not who I used to know," she said, her green eyes devoid of the warmth Snape had grown accustomed to seeing in them. "You… you chose this path yourself, Severus. I tried to help you, stop you, but you wouldn't listen."

"Tried to help me?" he hissed, shaking, his heart wrenched by fear, by guilt, by rage. "You abandoned me! You gave me no choice but to become this! I am what I am because of you! What's the matter, Lily, aren't you happy with what you've created!?"

All she did was shake her head, and the look of cruel disgust in her eyes hurt Snape more than any words could have. He stammered, trying to think of things he could say that would hurt her, cut her like she had cut him. But he was interrupted.

"Evans! Damn, what a coincidence! You filthy little mudblood!" Rodolphus Lestrange yelled from behind them, wand raised. "You _would _join up with that old geezer Dumbledore. But here, let me free you from his service. _Avada Ked_—"

"Stupefy!" Snape screamed, not even really aware of what he was doing, and Rodolphus collapsed in a heap. Snape stared shakily at his friend's still body. Eventually, he gained the courage to look back to Lily, who was healing some of Potter's more minor wounds. When she finally looked back up at him, the look of disgust was still there.

Snape wished he could die. He considered killing Potter, and then himself. But suddenly his arm burned, his Dark Mark cutting deep into his skin, calling him home. Karkaroff, the burning mark apparently pulling him back to consciousness, stumbled to his feet and, with an unsteady turn, vanished. Choking back tears, Snape hauled Rodolphus' limp body off the ground, and disapparated.

They reappeared in the hotel lobby, surrounded by other black robed figures, all of them groaning or nursing wounds. Snape, forcing himself to think only of the present, quickly cast the Rennervatation charm on Rodolphus, rousing him from his stupor. He made a quick tally of the Death Eaters in the lobby. Only one was missing. His mind was too clouded to figure out who that was. He stumbled out of the lobby, into the hallway.

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder, and as Snape turned back, he found himself looking into the furious eyes of Rodolphus Lestrange.

"You son of a bitch! You thought I wouldn't know it was you? You think you can get away with jinxing your comrade? How dare you! And why did you do it? For a good reason? No! You did it to save the life of that filthy Mudblood bitch! You… I defended you! I defended you to Bellatrix, but she was right, you're nothing but a traitor to the cause! When the Dark Lord finds out what you are, Snape, it'll be over for you, you can be goddamn sure of that!"

Rodolphus released him as they heard someone step into the hall after them. It was Travers.

"What's all this commotion?" Travers asked, calmly.

"I… I need to talk to Yaxley." Rodolphus said.

"Yaxley's arm is broken in about fifty places. He's going to need a few nights and a bottle of skelegrow before he's ready to talk to anyone. What's the problem?"

"Snape cast a jinx on me to protect some filthy little mudblood in the Order that he's got a crush on. He's a traitor. The Dark Lord needs to be told."

Travers took this information in calmly, nodding. When Rodolphus had finished, he smiled patronizingly. "Now, now, Rodolphus, I'm sure that didn't happen. You must have had a Confundus Curse cast on you." He winked at Snape over Rodolphus' shoulder.

"No!" Rodolphus insisted furiously, "No, I didn't! It happened!"

"Listen to me, Rodolphus. You're just confused. Don't worry about it; the Confundus Curse does that to the best of us. But you'd better not give Snape any sort of trouble, or so much as try to utter a word of this to the Dark Lord, or I'll consider it insubordination. The Dark Lord has plenty of legitimate concerns, and shouldn't be bothered with this. And neither should Snape. In fact, Severus, why don't you go get some sleep."

That was all Snape needed to hear. He quickly headed for the elevator, leaving the furious Rodolphus behind. He should have been concerned, but he couldn't be; his mind felt empty, and if he did anything to change that, he might not be able to take another step. Before the elevator doors shut, he saw Dolohov slowly stumbling down the hall towards him. Still sane enough to be afraid of Dolohov, Snape held the doors open.

The man who stumbled into the elevator appeared so upset and disoriented, Snape actually had to stare at him for a moment to confirm that it really was Dolohov. The stubbled man turned his dark, sunken eyes towards Snape.

"I tortured Alastor Moody," He said blankly.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Is he dead?"

"No," Dolohov said distractedly. "Dumbledore appeared and blasted me into a wall. He is incredibly powerful. That is when my Dark Mark started burning. The Dark Lord must have known that Dumbledore had come, and that he would be too much for us."

"Huh," Snape said.

"He wouldn't scream," Dolohov said in a hollow voice. "Moody. I gouged his eye out, Severus, and I showed it to him. Why wouldn't he scream?"

The doors clanked open abruptly, and Dolohov drifted out of the elevator, murmuring to himself softly. Snape rode it the rest of the way up to his room in silence, and, reaching it, locked the door behind him.

He took his robe off and climbed into bed, shutting the light off. Everything that had happened that night began flowing back to him. It was too much to process. There were so many emotions; no one of them seemed capable of asserting itself. But he knew one of them would win out soon. He wanted it to be hate. He needed it to be. He thought of what a horrible person she was for putting him in this position to begin with. How callous she had been to him on so many occasions. He thought of how much he hoped that James Potter would die of his wounds, and how much he hoped that his death would do her harm, hurt her deep down, like she had hurt him.

But it didn't work. _Maybe_, he thought, _she would have forgiven me if I could have healed him. It was my spell. I should have been able to heal him. For her. _

_I have to learn how to fix it._

He turned the light back on, dragging his exhausted body out of bed. He opened his trunk, digging around inside until he found one of his copies of the Sectumsempra spell, and _The Standard Book of Spells, Volume 4_, which he opened to the chapter on counter curses. And he did not sleep that night.


	9. Chapter 9

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 9**_

Snape's bloodshot eyes slowly opened. He had fallen asleep sitting at his desk, and his spine ached from prolonged contact with the back of his chair. He glanced at the piece of parchment in front of him, which was covered in notes and incantations. The handwriting was his, but it was sloppy; blotches were prevalent, scratch-outs numerous.

But he had finished it.

He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep. The heavy curtains blotted out most of the light, but he could tell that the sun had come up. Whatever sleep he had gotten, it certainly hadn't helped him any.

Snape suddenly got a cold feeling in his chest. Something was off. He was so tired… for the first time, he ripped his eyes of the piece of parchment, bringing his gaze up.

Mulciber stood in front of the desk, close enough that Snape could have reached out and touched him, not that he ever would have wanted to. The odd, pale little man was staring sedately at Snape, hands at his sides. It was too dark in the room to see Mulciber's beady eyes through the lenses of his glasses, but his ugly mouth was expressionless.

Upon noticing the intruder, Snape started violently, almost throwing himself out of the chair. Mulciber didn't react. Snape's eyes darted to the door, which, so far as he could tell, remained bolted.

"How did you get in here?" Snape brought himself to ask, his voice raspy. His throat felt like he hadn't had anything to drink in weeks.

"Let myself in," Mulciber said, his quiet, calm voice sending an insuppressible shiver through Snape's body.

"How long have you been staring at me?"

"Some time, now."

Snape brought an unsteady hand to his head and brushed it through his hair. It had been matted yesterday and was now, after hours of battling and a sleepless night, positively greasy.

"Well, what do you want?" Snape growled, unable to hold his patience steady. Most of the Death Eaters were mentally unstable, but Mulciber was taking the concept to strange new places.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you."

Snape stood, his back making a very unpleasant noise as he did so. He grabbed the messy piece of parchment and slipped it inside a book, which he closed and quickly hid away in a desk drawer.

"That's a bit important, isn't it?" Snape said bitterly. "Don't you think you should have told me right away?"

"The Dark Lord understands. He knows I like to watch. We were school boys together. Me and Thomas. Thomas and me."

Snape blinked. "His name was Thomas?" he asked.

"Thomas and Mulciber. Best of chums."

Snape smirked. He wondered how much of that was in Mulciber's imagination. He couldn't imagine the Dark Lord being "best chums" with anyone, Mulciber least of all.

"Fine," Snape said. I'll go soon. …thank you for telling me."

"I'll be going on an outing to the park tonight, Severus…"

"I'm… I'm sure I'll be busy, if the Dark Lord wants to see me."

"Pity," Mulciber said calmly, and, with a smooth turn, he vanished.

Snape shuddered. He had previously decided that casting an anti-apparation charm on the room was far more effort than it was worth, but suddenly, he felt quite differently. No time now, though.

He started walking to the door, but found his mind lingering on the contents of the desk drawer. Resolving to have just one more look, he hurried back, took out the book, and gingerly removed the dog-eared piece of parchment. He skimmed it for the hundredth time that night, ensuring that he knew it by memory.

He'd stayed up all night, writing it. Not that he would have slept anyway, but still; the effort of concocting a new spell had left him more exhausted than ever. He could have at least been resting his mind. But it had had to be done. _Not for her,_ he assured himself. _I'm not that weak. I hope he dies, and if that hurts her, well, it will serve her right._

He thought it over and over again until he almost believed it, and then, placing the parchment back down on the desk, he wandered to the other side of the room, where a large cauldron of Felix Felicis was gently bubbling away.

_I wouldn't have stayed up all night for her. I did it because it's important to be able to reverse your own spells. Irresponsible not to be. Did it for myself._

He stared at the potion. Considering it had only been cooking for a day, it was coming along nicely. He had been able to improve the process enough that it might be finished more quickly than usual; it would still take months, however.

He took the elevator to the eleventh floor, where the Dark Lord resided. He couldn't help but notice that, in the past few hours, a number of corpses had been removed from the hotel hallways, leaving only tell-tale bloodstains to mark where they had once been.

Snape had wanted to go talk to Rodolphus, and try to explain his actions. Failing that, he'd hoped at least to see Narcissa and Malfoy and make sure that they didn't believe what Rodolphus was saying abut him. The entirely true thing that Rodolphus was saying about him.But if the Dark Lord wanted to see him, that was all going to have to wait.

Snape rapped on the door of the Dark Lord's study. As it swung open, Snape held his breath; would he be staring into those cold, red eyes? Not yet, apparently, as Travers stood before him, grinning.

"Snape! 'Bout goddamn time!" He said cheerfully, but with a quiet that immediately informed Snape that the Dark Lord was nearby. Snape followed Travers through the entryway, crossing the front hall to the living room where he had assisted the Dark Lord in potion's making only a few days before. All of the potions materials had disappeared from the table.

Snape's eyes were immediately drawn to the large picture window, before which stood the Dark Lord, shrouded, as always, in billowing black robes.

"Ah," the Dark Lord said without turning, "Snape. Come join me."

As Snape was walking towards the window, he saw Yaxley enter the room behind him; the man looked terrible. His face had an unhealthy pallor, and his right arm was in a sling.

Snape nervously headed towards the Dark Lord's side. Unwilling to dare looking upon that magnificent pale visage, he glued his eyes to the window, staring at a busy street full of muggles going about their business. Apparently loathe to be left out, Travers and Yaxley had sidled up behind him.

"Look at them all, Snape," The Dark Lord said, apparently gazing out the window himself. "There are billions of them. Isn't that terrible? They outnumber our kind thousands to one. And what do they contribute? Nothing. The most they can aspire to be in life is a joke by comparison to even a mediocre wizard."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said.

"Evolution has failed us, Snape. It is in our hands to set things back to the correct course."

Snape nodded, staring at the muggles. He felt like he should have had pity for them, but remembering his father, he didn't. Not really.

"I have not yet decided what should be done about them all," the Dark Lord was saying. "Grindelwald wanted to make them our servants, but I wonder how practical that really is. Besides, we already have House Elves for that."

"Then, you plan to exterminate them, Master?"

The Dark Lord laughed coldly. "I am powerful, Snape, but perhaps not yet that powerful. I think it is best that we focus on securing our control over the wizarding world. There will be plenty of time to deal with the muggles afterwards."

The Dark Lord turned away from the window, as though his last statement had dismissed the muggle world from any importance until further notice. He glanced at Yaxley, apparently noticing him for the first time.

"Ah. How is your arm?"

"Not so good, my Lord. Our healer said it was too badly damaged to mend normally… I'm taking skelegrow for it."

"Ah."

"I was thinking, my Lord… no doubt I could serve you best if I were at full health… in your infinite power, perhaps you could speed up the healing process?"

"Hmm," The Dark Lord intoned, "Serve me best, you say? Now, which part of serving me would you get back to first? Getting your arm shattered by a half-crazy joke of an Auror? Or sending one of my friends off to his death?"

Yaxley had been pale when he'd entered the room. Now he was positively white. "My Lord… I…"

"Avery is dead because of you, Yaxley. That little charge you pulled off."

Snape's eyes widened. So that was who had been missing the night before. An Avery; the elder one, from the sound of it.

"My Lord, I'm sorry… I only thought, a wizard so experienced and skilled as he…"

"Do not flatter yourself by assuming I care what you think, Yaxley. Avery attended Hogwarts with me. He was a… dear friend."

The Dark Lord didn't even bother to put on a fake display of emotion. None of them would have believed it, and it wasn't as though they were in any place to challenge his claim, even though they all knew that he had no trouble leaving Lestrange senior, another "school chum", rotting in Azkaban.

"No," the Dark Lord continued, "I do not think that expediting your healing process will be necessary. I am sure that Snape and Travers do not mind taking over your former duties."

Yaxley looked truly crestfallen. However, he wasn't anywhere near stupid enough to argue.

"Yes, my Lord," he said.

"You may go."

Yaxley turned away, marching slowly towards the door. His eyes met Snape, and there was fire in them. _You won't get away with this,_ Yaxley mouthed. Snape frowned. He hadn't been planning on getting away with anything.

Travers, apparently, had been planning just that. He put an arm over Yaxley's shoulder, causing the large man to wince as his shattered arm shook in its sling. Travers whispered, voice sharp, "Tough break, Yax. You heal up, now."

Yaxley targeted Travers with an even more vicious glare before exiting the room. As the door slammed shut, Travers spun smartly to face the Dark Lord. Snape, more slowly, did likewise.

"Snape, Travers. You both escaped last night's battle with no major wounds, I hope?"

"Yes, sir," Travers reported smartly.

"I am pleased to hear it. We learned quite a lot from last night's little conflict, but it was not what I had been hoping for. Though our influence among the population is continuing to grow, the intensity of the resistance against us seems to be rising to match. Dumbledore…" The Dark Lord said the name with particular distaste, "and his lackeys, despite our best efforts, have so far managed to avoid extermination. However, I believe their membership has finally reached its peak. Meanwhile, Crouch is getting the Ministry to push through more and more aggressive acts."

"Vexing, my Lord," Travers said. "Before Crouch came along, the Ministry was practically ready to roll over for us."

"Precisely. Something will have to be done about him. But that is a topic for another day. For now, I need the two of you to go and meet with Rookwood."

"Rookwood, sir? The spy?" Travers asked curiously.

"Yes. Yaxley has been meeting with him in person twice per month to exchange information. You two will go today."

"Where, Master?"

"No doubt some muggle eatery," The Dark Lord said, clearly not particularly interested in the details. "You will ask Yaxley before you go."

"Yes, my Lord," Travers uttered loyally. Almost as an afterthought, Snape repeated the sentiment.

"Good. You may go."

As they were leaving, a tall, thin man wearing glasses passed by them. Snape had never seen him before. As they filed into the entry hall, the man in glasses entered the living room where the Dark Lord waited, and shut the door behind him.

Snape was turning to leave the suite when he came face to face with Yaxley, who had apparently been waiting for them, and did not look particularly pleased.

"Do you need something, Yax?" Travers asked, brow furrowed with fake confusion.

"Don't play coy with me, Travers. If you two are taking over for me, I'll need to brief you on what needs doing. Firstly, initiations need to be scheduled…"

"Whoa, whoa," Travers said, rolling his eyes. "Maybe later. For now, we just need to know where to meet Rookwood."

"Ah," Yaxley said coldly. "A muggle café in London. 'Robert's'. On Jermyn. One O'clock."

"Great, great," Travers said condescendingly. "We'll be sure to tell him why you couldn't make it."

"You're going to regret being a bastard about this, Travers," Yaxley growled. "And you, Snape… I guess I know what your word is worth"

Snape considered telling Yaxley that he had never wanted this job to begin with, but knew it would be pointless, and anyway found that he was really too tired to care. Instead, he shrugged.

Yaxley growled again before plodding out of the suite, leaving Travers and Snape in his wake.

"How about that, Snape?" Travers said once they were alone again. "We're climbing the ladder, aye?"

"Yes," Snape said noncommittally.

"Hrm, I haven't seen Rookwood since school. Used to be a real stuck-up, manipulative bastard. Wonder if he's changed much."

"Not really."

"Oh, that's right; you've met him, aye?"

"I know who he is. I doubt he'd remember me, though."

"Aye, imagine you were hooded the whole time. Say, why do you think we have to meet in person? Why not use the Floo Network?"

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "The Floo Network can be watched by the Ministry, and we can't afford for Rookwood to get caught. Meeting in public is much harder for the Aurors to trace."

"Ahh, I can see why the Dark Lord gave you half of Yaxley's job, Snape! You and me, we're gonna be good partners, eh?"

Snape gave a weak smile and nodded, again noncommittally. As he did, the door to the living room creaked open, and the tall fellow with glasses stepped out. He was dressed in business robes, and had the look of a man who spent half an hour every morning insuring that his tie was perfectly symmetrical. His hair was brown and parted down the middle, his glasses horn-rimmed and expensive-looking. He gave Travers a brief nod.

"Nott," Travers responded. "How's the family?"

"Fine, thank you," Nott said, pushing his glasses up his nose with a pinky finger.

"Ah," Travers said, clearly expecting Nott to nod and walk away, which did not occur. The three of them stood in silence for several moments before, finally, Nott gave a clearly forced cough.

"Oh," Travers said, "Right, you're one of those pricks who can't introduce themselves. Fine. Snape, this is Nott. Nott, Snape. Nott does our bookkeeping and such. He's incredibly boring."

Nott held his hand out to Snape, and Snape shook it.

"As you can see from Nott's appearance," Travers continued, "he has always desired to be a banker. However, in the wizarding world, all the banking jobs are taken by those nasty little goblins. That's why Nott became a Death Eater; extreme disenfranchisement at being prevented from banking."

"Hrm," Nott said disapprovingly, and headed for the door. "That's not true," he said softly for Snape's benefit, and then exited.

Travers stared after him. "Git," he muttered, before his trademark grin reappeared. "Hey, Snape, how's my Felix Felicis coming?"

"Fine. At least four months to go, though…"

Travers looked a bit crestfallen, but recovered quickly. "Well, four months is better than never, aye? And once it's finished… jackpot! I can get by until then."

"What did you need it for, again?"

"Personal reasons, Snape, personal reasons. Hey, we're going to need muggle clothes. Do you have any?"

Snape thought of the awkward, filthy muggle clothing in his trunk upstairs. The things his parents hid bought him.

"No," he said.

"Me, neither," Travers said. "Better go shopping. Do you know any muggle stores?"

"Erm." Snape said. "How are we supposed to go shopping dressed like this? Kind of defeats the point, doesn't it? I think Yaxley keeps a supply of muggle clothes we could use."

"Are you kidding? I'm not going begging to him. Nah, let's buy our own. Where won't we stick out?"

"Erm…" Snape thought about it. "Some kind of clergy store, I suppose…"

"Great! …What does 'clergy' mean?"

"Uhm… Religious leaders."

"Oh, hrm. They worship… what? The Dark Lord?"

"I… don't believe so."

"Hah, well, I suppose they will soon. Or, die, I guess. I'm kind of alright with either alternative. Where can we find one of these stores?"

Snape shrugged, but then considered that they were in a hotel, and looked around for a phone. He found one fairly quickly, sitting on a table in the corner, and a phone book sat next to it.

A few minutes later, they were inside McKechnie's Catholic Supplies, located in South London. Though Snape wasn't sure if priests wore black robes, the people at the counter gave them only a half-strange look before turning back to their business. Snape nervously approached them.

"Excuse me."

"Yes, young man?"

"We're looking for… uhm… street clothes. You know… like…"

"Back wall."

Snape blinked, turning and heading to the back of the store. There he found stacks of black shirts and pants, and he quickly grabbed some that were his size. Travers was staring down at the items rather blankly.

"I don't get it. Aren't they going to size us?"

"No… they use Muggle sizes."

Snape grabbed pants and a shirt of the same size as he was going to wear, and shoved them at Travers. "Here, these will fit you."

Snape caught the eye of one of the shop people. "Do you mind if we change into these? We have to go to a, erm… religious function… right away."

The woman looked at him cock-eyed, but nodded. Travers and Snape headed to the fitting rooms, changing into the clothing. They emerged at the same time, and approached the front of the store, where Travers pulled a massive wad of muggle money out of his pocket and dropped it onto the counter.

"That enough?"

The woman, as was becoming common practice for her over the past few minutes, stare at them suspiciously before grabbing the money and counting out the amount she needed. She thrust the rest of the wad, which still seemed to contain hundreds of dollars in mostly five and ten Pound notes, back at Travers.

"Thank you!" Travers said enthusiastically, and headed for the door. Snape followed. They had stashed their robes in a leather handbag, which Snape now carried.

"Oh, uhm," Travers said as he was swinging the door open. "Praise the Dark Lord!"

The shop woman's mouth dropped open. Luckily, they were out onto the street before she could react any further.

"Imagine," Travers said. "Paper money. Only muggles could think of something that profoundly bizarre."

"Where'd you get it, anyway?" Snape asked.

"Eh, here and there. I like to go through their pockets after I kill them."

Snape grunted, pulling the white priest's neckband out of his shirt and tossing it aside, and turning down the black collar to compensate.

"You should take that collar out," he told Travers.

"Go to hell, I'm keeping it. Looks sharp. What time is it?"

"The clock in there had ten past one."

"That means we're late!"

They turned into an alley, and after quickly checking that they weren't being watched, they apparated.

Ironically, being dressed as vicars proved to get them just as many confused stares as if they had worn their robes. Snape shrugged this away, though; after all, the Aurors wouldn't be looking for a couple of priests.

Robert's didn't seem like a very popular place, which was probably why Rookwood and Yaxley had selected it. Travers and Snape were led by a server to an outdoor seating area behind the restaurant.

Augustus Rookwood was the lone occupant, sitting at a table for four and sipping a cup of tea. He was wearing a muggle business suit, and unlike Snape and Travers, he blended in quite well.

As they came over, Rookwood glanced up at them.

"Hah. Reverend Travers. Here to try to convince me to start going to church?"

"You already do quite enough for the Lord," Travers said enthusiastically, sliding into a seat. Snape sat down next to him.

"Honestly," Rookwood said. "Priest's clothing. If only you, say, knew magic, and could have conjured up something less suspicious."

"Erm," Travers said. "We couldn't remember the incantation."

"Sure," Rookwood responded, "Or you're just morons. Where's Yaxley?"

"Couldn't make it."

"…How was the train ride here?"

"We didn't take the damn train, you lunatic."

"… God dammit."

"What?"

"That's the code. You're supposed to say a password so I know that you were sent by… You Know Who."

Travers snorted. "We went to school together, you prat. Don't you recognize your own mate? And 'You Know Who'? What are you, twelve?"

"'Mate'? Let's not go nuts. And anyway, I don't know if you're aware, but they've got this amazing new concoction; it's called polyjuice potion, and—"

"Yeah, I get it. Yaxley didn't tell me no password, so you're gonna have to trust me."

"Fine. Just show me the Dark Mark."

Travers rolled his eyes and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the skull and snake brand on his left forearm. Rookwood glanced at it and nodded.

"Fine, fine. Why couldn't Yaxley come?"

"Hurt himself a bit the other night."

"Couldn't the Dark Lord have fixed him up?"

Travers grinned. "The Dark Lord… chose not to."

"Yeesh," Rookwood said. "Is he going to live through this?"

"I expect. He just had a bit of a fall down the ladder."

"Still, must be in a bad place, right about now."

"Mhmm, but his loss is my gain," Travers said uncaringly.

"Suppose," Rookwood replied, sipping at his tea. "So, that was quite a stunt you boys pulled last night.

"Well, it was sure as hell a lot more interesting than your little desk job," Travers said mockingly.

Rookwood glared. "Go to hell, Travers. I go through more crap in a day than you have since you joined up. I put up with things that would have broken you weeks ago. You ever been interviewed by Alastor Moody? I have. _Six times_. And the bastard has more Sneakoscopes in his office than he does… hell, any other object."

"Huh," Travers said, sounding a bit impressed. "You don't look all that stressed."

"Yeah, well, I can't exactly go in every day looking like my life as a spy is putting me under pressure," Rookwood said, rolling his eyes. "They're on the lookout as it is. You have to be on your toes. I drink about forty gallons of this stuff a day to stay alert," he added, raising his tea cup. "Of course, then I have to mask being jittery. Spend an hour every goddamn morning cleaning myself up so it looks like I'm sleeping well, and that my dreams aren't haunted by crazy-as-a-cuckoo-bird Alastor Moody. Granted, the concept of morning grooming is clearly lost on your friend here." He nodded at Snape, smirking.

Travers laughed. "Hey, lay off Snape, he got me out of a tight spot last night."Rookwood made eye contact with Snape for the first time. "Ahhh, so this is Severus Snape."

Snape raised a brow. "You've heard of me?"

"Why, yes, you've become quite the little celebrity."

Snape blinked. Rookwood reached down under the table, and brought up a manila envelope, from which he pulled several pieces of parchment.

"Let's see, here… Dark Wizard known as Yaxley, wanted for incinerating two Aurors with a Dark Arts technique. Dark Wizard Antonin Dolohov, wanted for torturing and killing two civilians…"

"Dolohov got a couple of Order members?" Travers interrupted. "Good for him!"

"Dark Wizard known as Travers," Rookwood pushed on, "wanted for killing one Auror with the Avada Kedavra curse…"

Travers gave a slight bow.

"Ah, here we are," Rookwood continued. "Severus Snape. Wanted for badly wounding a civilian with a Dark Arts technique of unknown origin."

Travers clapped Snape on the back. "Hey, not bad! Was that the skinny little bastard I was fighting?"

Snape nodded, wishing they could talk about something else. Apparently, however, Rookwood had other ideas. He enthusiastically turned to another page of parchment.

"Severus Snape, having graduated from Hogwarts last year, has been confirmed a Death Eater by eye-witnesses Lily Evans and James Potter. Severus Snape engaged in combat with James Potter this previous night, and in the course of the battle attempted to use the killing curse. Afterwards, he badly wounded James Potter with another curse of unknown specification. James Potter was brought in to St. Mungo's by his fiancé Lily Evans, accompanied by Albus Dumbledore. However, all attempts at healing his wounds proved ineffective. Because the wounds were non-mortal, muggle medical techniques were eventually used to close up the incision, leaving James Potter with a permanent scar down his midsection."

Rookwood stopped reading and grinned. Travers was doing the same, and Snape felt pride swell in his breast. Two of the most important Death Eaters in the organization were impressed with him; he had made them proud, using a spell that he had created himself. And in the process, he'd taught James Potter quite a lesson. He allowed himself to smile.

"Lily Evans…" Travers said thoughtfully. "Hmm, is that the girl you saved from Rodolphus last night, Snape?"

Snape felt his cheeks flush. Had Travers had to bring her up?

"Ooo," Rookwood said, leaning forward, "What's this?"

"Apparently, that big moron Rodolphus Lestrange was about to do away with this Evans girl, and Sev here knocked him out, saved her."

"Huh," Rookwood said, still grinning, but with a look in his eyes like he was carefully filing away everything he heard. "The plot thickens!"

"So what's the deal, Snape?" Travers asked, grabbing Snape by the shoulder and shaking him friendlily. "Is she your arch enemy, and you're the only one who's allowed to kill her?"

"Or do you fancy her?" Rookwood asked coyly.

"Either way," Travers said, "Same solution! Rookwood could probably get you her address easy. If you hate her, you go there one night and end her. If you're into her… well, let's just say the Imperius Curse has its fair share of uses, Sev…"

Rookwood laughed. "Never could use that curse worth a damn, myself… always had to talk 'em into doing something they'd later regret the old fashioned way."

Snape felt a little sick. He tried to keep the smile on his face. "I'm sure I'll see her soon enough at the next battle," he said, hoping he sounded convincing. Travers shrugged, apparently accepting this, but Rookwood shot Snape a slightly suspicious glance before turning back to the parchment.

"Nothing else really important in these reports. Right now Crouch is trying to push through a resolution to allow the use of Veritasserum in interrogations, but that'll take months to approve."

Travers nodded, reaching into his pants pocket and removing a pack of cigarettes that he had apparently transferred over from his robe. "See if you can't tie it up even more, Aug," he said, lighting up a smoke. "You want one?"

Rookwood shook his head. "Nah. Those things'll kill you."

Travers snorted. "You know, I can see why you're an effective spy. For example, right now, you're doing a very good impersonation of a woman."

"Heh. Smoke up, Travers. I always hoped I'd be able to speak at your funeral."

"You know, smoking may be dangerous, but acting as a spy within the Ministry isn't exactly a job free of occupational hazards."

"Are you kidding? If they find me out, I'll just inform on all of you. They'll treat me like a goddamn star celebrity, I'll give them so many names."

"Hrm," Travers said, and looked a bit worried. He clearly believed the threat.

Rookwood laughed, and there was a bit of cruelness hidden underneath. No doubt he enjoyed letting it out, Snape considered. Rookwood had to wear a mask of passivity all day at work, and all night at home. None of his family, none of his coworkers, knew what really lurked underneath.

"There, there, Travers," Rookwood mocked, "Maybe I'll leave your name out. You'll just have to owe me a favor."

"Heh. You'll excuse me for not wanting to go down that road."

"Ahh, well, I don't know. Sometimes it's a good thing, owing me a favor. I know a lot about people, Travers. You, for example. You're kind of a _lucky_ guy, wouldn't you say?"

Travers' eyes quickly narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You've been having a lot of_ lucky_ days lately, that's all. Have been, wow, since seventh year at Hogwarts. Seems almost unnatural, eh? Granted, these days, it's hardly noticeable…"

Travers had clenched his hand around the edge of the table, knuckles white.

"You know, on a totally unrelated topic," Rookwood said coyly, "I heard from a contact in the potions world that a lot of harder to make potions are falling into short supply because of the war. I bet that must be tough for people who have developed a… habit… of taking potions…"

Travers growled. "What the hell do you want, Rookwood?"

"I just want you to know that it's always a good idea to do me a favor, Travers, if I ask you to. For future reference."

"Heh. I'll keep that in mind."

The waiter had finally approached the table. Snape was thankful. Listening to the previous conversation had been exceedingly uncomfortable; the way the men spoke as though he wasn't there was highly disconcerting, and meanwhile, it seemed to be a toss-up as to which of them was the more devious.

"Fire Whisky," Travers said boredly. The waiter stared.

"Erm," Rookwood mumbled quickly, "He's… he's part American Indian. That's what they call… what they call alcohol."

The waiter raised an eyebrow, glancing at Travers' priest's collar. "Right. Well, we don't have a liquor license."

Travers snorted.

"We'll all have the chicken cutlet," Rookwood said. "And just water to drink."

"Alright, sirs, I'll go put your order in," the waiter said, giving them one last askance look before heading back for the kitchens.

"And maybe be a little quicker about it, you bastard!" Travers called after him, prompting Rookwood to sigh tiredly.

They sat in silence for a while, each of them in their own world. Snape felt his mind drifting, and that was never a good sign; he attempted to fix his thoughts on the food that had been ordered for him, and actually, it worked. He hadn't realized how starving he was. Food had hardly been the first thing on his mind lately.

"Man, Snape," Travers said, breaking the silence. "If I'd known what a badass you'd been last night, I might not have sent Mulciber for you this morning. You've earned better than that kind of treatment."

Rookwood shuddered at the mention of Mulciber. "Jesus. He's not here, is he?" he said, looking around nervously.

Travers rolled his eyes. "God, no."

"Did you know he's got a nephew? Actually, probably went to Hogwarts with you, eh, Snape?"

Snape blinked. Come to think of it, there had been a Mulciber in Slytherin. He had been good friends with Evans Rosier, and was two years older than Snape, but had left prior to graduation. There were rumors that he had killed himself.

"Christ, can you imagine?" Travers mused. "'Honey, put your sweater on! We're going to Uncle Mulciber's for Christmas Dinner!'"

Rookwood half laughed, half shuddered.

"Did you two… go to school with Mulciber?" Snape asked.

Rookwood laughed again. "Do we really look that old to you? Christ, that's depressing. No, Mulciber's from before our time. We went to school with his little brother. Way younger. We roomed with him, actually… it was me, Yaxley, Travers, and Mulciber. Of course, this is before they were called Yaxley and Travers."

Snape blinked. "Those aren't their real names?"

"Nah. They both managed to accumulate quite a criminal record before joining up with the Dark Lord, so they started going by aliases a few years back. The Ministry still hasn't figured out who they really are. Yaxley picked a common pureblood name, and that's been throwing them for a loop. Travers… I think he just made his up."

Travers shrugged, cheeks slightly red from being talk about. "What ever happened to Mulciber, anyway? The one we went to school with, I mean?"

"Huh… past having a kid twenty years ago, I'm not really sure."

"I always hated that we had to room with him."

"Yeah…" Rookwood said, eyes becoming somewhat vacant. "When the older Mulciber would come to visit… those were the worst nights of my life. So far as I could tell, he didn't even sleep. He just sort of… watched."

"I remember," Travers said, uncharacteristically quiet. "And he'd use the Imperius curse on you… like, as a joke… nothing big. He'd just make you do little things, and then smile at you, and you'd be too scared to say anything about it."

"And he'd…" Rookwood started, but seemed to stop himself.

Rookwood and Travers stared at each other for a moment, both of them looking grim. Eventually, Travers smirked. "Yeah, well, here we are now, and where's he? Sitting in a park somewhere making rabbits frig each other."

Rookwood laughed weakly. "Guess so."

It clearly wasn't enough, though. The two men avoided eye contact. Eventually, Rookwood took a shot at changing the subject.

"You know, I miss the old Slytherin dorms, sometimes…"

"Mhmm, me too," Travers agreed.

"You were in Slytherin, Snape?" Rookwood asked.

"Yes," Snape said, a bit prideful.

"House to be in. I knew a few Ravenclaws who weren't bad, though."

"What about Lily, Snape?" Travers said, grinning. "What House was she in?"

Snape grimaced, but knew that there was nothing he could do to escape now that the subject had been breached again.

"Gryffindor," he said unhappily.

Rookwood and Travers both snickered.

"And her fiancé Potter?" Rookwood asked.

"Him, too."

"Ah, well, figures," Rookwood said. "It's like I always said; Gryffindor is where they put all the mental defectives once Hufflepuff fills up."

Snape smiled. He'd always rather suspected that himself. Not about Lily, of course… he always felt she should have been in Slytherin. He'd hated the sorting hat for placing her in Gryffindor. He had never really forgiven it.

"You know, Snape," Rookwood said, "I know what hospital room Potter is in. I could fix you boys up. You could go finish him off."

This information shot through Snape's brain like electricity. He wanted nothing more… and yet…

"No," he said, hoping he sounded believable. "Let him live with that scar I gave him until next time we meet."

Rookwood took on, for the second time that afternoon, a slightly suspicious look. Snape could tell that gears were turning behind Rookwood's eyes. He was mining Snape for information, for weaknesses, and filing it all away; eventually, the day would come that he asked Snape for a favor, and Snape would be loathe to refuse. He realized now that the secret of what had happened between him and Rodolphus was safe with Rookwood. Rookwood wouldn't tell, because the information became useless once it was no longer a secret. But he would remember. And Rookwood seemed like a man with a long memory.

However, the suspicious look disappeared quickly, and once again Snape seemed to be looking into the eyes of a middle-aged Ministry employee who wanted nothing more than to read the_ Prophet _with his breakfast and kiss his wife when he got home from work. So few people would ever know the truth…

"Ah!" Travers said, pointing. "It's about damn time! Lunch!"


	10. Chapter 10

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 10**_

Several days had passed since the lunch with Rookwood. Snape awoke groggily in the late morning, surprised by how much sleep he had managed to get. His workload had increased significantly of late, and he often got so tired that his body forced him to sleep whether his troubled mind wanted to allow it or not. He crossed into the bathroom, where he splashed water onto his face and pulled on his robes, which he had left crumpled on the floor the night before. He wracked his tired mind to figure out which tasks he had scheduled for that morning, and then remembered what he had so gleefully realized before going to bed last night.

For once, this morning, he didn't have anything on his agenda.

Since being relegated Yaxley's old job, Snape had been constantly busy. Immediately upon returning from the meeting with Rookwood, he and Travers had been required to sort through a heap of letters that had come in via owl from Death Eaters stationed all around the country. Those that were urgent had to be brought to the Dark Lord immediately, and personally.

Worse still was the scheduling, a task that never seemed to be finished. Snape had little aptitude for it; something about assigning a set time and date to when a member of the opposition was going to have their home invaded and their family murdered was rather hard to get used to.

Travers, to Snape's surprise, tackled most of the tasks with abandon. He seemed anxious enough to gain favor that he'd do anything, however monotonous, to get into the Dark Lord's good graces. For Snape, though, the tedious work brought little joy. He would have much rather been helping the Dark Lord brew advanced-level potions. Even guard duty during night missions was preferable to the bureaucratic busy work. He was often tempted to cede all of his duties over to Travers, but knew better than to try; the Dark Lord might not be pleased if he discovered that Snape had been modifying his orders.

Much to his annoyance, Snape had yet to find enough time to talk to Malfoy or Rodolphus, despite having desired to do so for days. They no doubt took his silence as a sign of guilt, and this concerned him; he was grateful to finally have made enough time that morning to hunt them down and try to tell his side of the story; that is to say, a lie. It wasn't so much that he even missed seeing them; it was more that losing friends was something he never wanted to do again.

So, on that morning, having somehow obtained for himself a clear schedule, he trekked down flight after flight of stairs, the noise echoing up and down the shaft in a cacophony of sound not worthy of its single architect. Snape had been taking the stairs quite often lately; when he took the elevator, he constantly worried about running into Bellatrix, Rodolphus, or, God forbid, Mulciber.

Today, though, any of those three would have been preferable to the person he nearly crashed into as he exited the second floor stair platform. It was Travers, and whenever Snape ran into Travers these days, he ended up with several hours' worth of work to perform. He preferred how things had been before, when running into Travers just meant having to listen to an especially off-color joke.

"Snape!" Travers exclaimed happily. "Been looking for you."

"I'm a bit busy, Travers," Snape said snippily, knowing that being nice wasn't going to convince Travers to give him any less work to do.

"Well, yes, aren't we all?" Travers asked, not waiting for an answer. "I just saw the Dark Lord. He's got a job for you."

Snape cursed under his breath. More letter sorting, no doubt. But Travers had invoked the name of the Dark Lord, which meant it would be treachery if Snape tried to walk away. He sighed in surrender.

"Fine, then," he said. "What's the job?"

"Kidnapping!"

Snape blinked. Kidnapping? That was a change, at least.

"Ah…" Snape said cautiously, "Of who, precisely?"

"Barty Crouch!" Travers said happily. "He's becoming a problem. Needs to be taken care of."

"So I'm going to kidnap him?"

"Well, you won't be alone, of course. The Dark Lord says to take four others with you. It won't be an easy job."

"No, I wouldn't think so… Crouch is head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He'll be well guarded. It won't be any small task to get him back here."

"No, I'd imagine not."

"How should I start?"

"You want me to tell you how to start? Why don't I just do the whole damn job for you? I've been given other stuff to do, Snape." Travers said, sounding quite happy about the fact. He slapped Snape heartily on the back."Have fun!"

Travers pushed past him and into the stairwell, leaving Snape standing sulkily in the hallway. _Dammit… _Snape thought. He'd wanted to…

Well, actually, if he had to take four people with him, he may as well bring the ones he needed to talk to. It could be a long mission; maybe he'd get some time to explain himself after all. Feeling a bit better, he walked down the hall until he reached the large double doors to the parlor, which he pushed through.

Yaxley was the room's only occupant, and, as was a common sight since his demotion, he was reading in front of the fire. The sling was freshly gone from his arm, which looked healed. The blonde man looked up as Snape entered, then grunted something that was probably offensive and went back to his book.

Snape leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. He had no idea how to proceed. He was barely capable of administrative work; now he was supposed to coordinate kidnapping operations as well? It wasn't as though he had any practical experience in this kind of work. How would he even find out where Crouch was? How would he get him alone, capture him alive, get him back here? Snape sighed audibly.

"Need help?" Yaxley said, not looking up from whatever he was reading. Snape ignored him, not in any particular mood to be mocked.

"Fine," said Yaxley. "If you don't need help kidnapping Crouch, than I'll just stay here and read."

This caught Snape's attention. He strode over to Yaxley, trying to look intimidating. Yaxley looked up, and his expression suggested that this didn't work very well.

"How do you know I have to kidnap Barty Crouch?" Snape demanded.

"It's not exactly a secret. Travers is loud enough that you'd think he has some kind of constant Sonorus charm going. Hell, I'd suspect he did, if he didn't have the magical skill of an especially stupid baboon. Still, though; I bet the tied up muggles in the basement heard him, volume he yells things at."

"…There are muggles in the basement?"

"Maybe. So do you want help, or don't you?"

"What kind of help are you offering?" Snape asked carefully. He knew he had to be careful. Yaxley was not pleased that the Dark Lord had chosen Snape over him, and the big man was currently quite likely to take the first chance he got to stab Snape in the back, in a very literal sense.

"Well," Yaxley said patiently, "I figure, I could pull this off easy, but have no authority. You have authority, but no goddamn clue as to how to proceed. The most practical solution is for you to make me the first member of your team, and then we could lead in conjunction with each other."

Snape thought about this, staring levelly at Yaxley, who smirked happily back at him. Would Yaxley sabotage the mission on purpose, to make Snape look like a failure? Would he use the fact that Snape needed his help to argue against Snape's reliability in the future? Would he attempt to abuse his temporary leadership position? Probably at least one of the three, if not all of them. But Snape knew there was no other practical choice; Yaxley was right. He had no goddamn clue what he was doing. And besides; if Yaxley took over his old job again, all the better. If Snape saw another owl, he was libel to cast the Death Curse upon it.

"Alright," Snape said resignedly.

Yaxley grinned. "Fine, fine. You're allowed to bring three others, right? I'll pick one, you pick two."

"Malfoy," Snape said.

"Dolohov," Yaxley replied smoothly.

Snape fought down an objection. He didn't exactly love Dolohov, but the man was one of the best casters they had; bringing him made sense.

"Hmm… Rodolphus Lestrange," Snape said.

Yaxley raised an eyebrow. "I don't know about that."

"Well, too bad. It's my choice," Snape said obstinately.

"Sure. But I'd say there's about a fifty-fifty chance that he'll strangle you to death first chance he gets."

Snape felt his resolve slipping. "It's… that bad?"

"I don't know what you did that got him so riled up, Snape, but he is not happy with you. I get that you want to make nice, but this isn't the best venue for it. If he doesn't accept your apology, you're stuck with an enemy by your side for the entirety of the mission.

Snape almost laughed. He was already stuck with that. Still, Yaxley made a good point.

"Fine," he said. "Narcissa Black."

Yaxley frowned. "I don't know abou—"

"No," Snape insisted firmly. "It's my choice, and I pick her."

"Very well," Yaxley said, rolling his eyes. I'll go get Dolohov, and you can go find Lord Malfoy and Lady Black. Meet back here in ten minutes.

Snape nodded, leaving the parlor and taking the stairs up to the floor that Malfoy stayed on. He rapped on their door hesitantly, worried that Lucius and Narcissa might be just about as pleased to see him as Yaxley claimed Rodolphus would have been. The door creaked open, revealing Narcissa Malfoy. Her pale blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she was garbed in what appeared to be one of Malfoy's white Hogwarts shirts, which hung well down to her bare thighs.

Snape took a step backwards, averting his eyes. "Oh, erm, excuse me…"

"Sev!" She exclaimed, ignoring his awkwardness. "It's been so long! Where the hell have you been?" She stepped forward and hugged him around the chest. Odd though it was, he enjoyed the feeling, the warmth of another human. One didn't exactly get frequent hugs in the Death Eater Hilton. He left his arms hanging limply at his sides for lack of a better idea of what to do with them. When she'd let go and taken a step back, she stared at him until he was forced to make eye contact. She looked angry, but, he was pleased to note, not murderous.

"Who do you think you are, Sev? Have you been avoiding me?"

"Oh, no, it's just that…"

"Well, here, come on," she interrupted, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the room. She picked up a pair of shorts off the ground and pulled them on before sitting down on the edge of the large bed that dominated the room. Snape quickly surveyed the area for a chair, but did not find one.

"Oh, come _on_, Sev, sit down," she said, patting the bed next to her.

Grudgingly, he did as she said.

"Where is Malfoy?" he asked.

"Lucius? I think he went off to find Dolohov for help with a spell."

"Oh, good," Snape said. "Yaxley will tell him, then."

"Tell him what?" She asked, clearly confused. "No, wait, wait. Start from the beginning. First of all, why haven't you been around lately?"

"I've had a lot of work to do for the Dark Lord."

"Clearly. But why are you being given so much more to do than Lucius and I?"

"Oh…" Snape said, surprised. "I'd assumed it would have become public knowledge by now. The Dark Lord became displeased with Yaxley after that evening on Diagon Alley. He appointed Travers and I to take over for him."

Narcissa's eyes widened. "Are you serious? Yaxley has been demoted? Serves him right, the old bastard! And you took his place! He must be furious!"

"He wasn't pleased at all, no. But today, he and I—"

"Beginning, Severus, from the beginning. So, you and Travers are sort of in charge now?"

"Well… after the Dark Lord… and I think after that man Nott…"

"Tall fellow with glasses?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Alright."

"And no doubt there are others I don't know about…"

"Hmm," she mumbled thoughtfully, "Why Travers? He's kind of a head case, isn't he? At least Yaxley was a smart head case."

"I don't know," Snape admitted. "Seniority, perhaps?"

"Sure, but if that's the reason, then why you? You haven't been here all that long."

"Erm… perhaps just because I was the closest when he needed to appoint someone new?"

She snorted. "Listen to that modesty! Come on, Snape, we both know you're a genius. You helped the Dark Lord make potions, for God's sake! How many people can say that?"

Snape felt his pale cheeks flushing, and looked away.

"Alright, fine," she giggled. "So that's that. Now… back to the beginning once again, before any of this even happened. Rodolphus."

"Rodolphus," Snape said grimly. "I—"

"Stop," Narcissa said. "I don't want to know if what he's saying is true or not, alright? Frankly, I'm not sure what to believe, but you're a smart guy. I know you'd have to lie to me if I asked you, to save your own skin. I don't want that. So just don't tell me.

"I…" he started, but he knew she was right. He would be forced to lie, and he'd prefer not to. "Alright," he finished.

"Look. Lily Evans… well, I always knew how you felt about her. And if you did what Rodolphus says you did… well, you must really love her, Sev. And I get that. I mean, I know she's a mudblood, and that's pretty disgusting, but… well, keep this a secret… but that stuff isn't actually all that important to me."

He turned to face her, surprised. "It's not? Then why are you here?"

"Because Lucius is here, Sev. I would follow him anywhere. You probably know how that is. If you love Lily—and I'm not saying you do—then you probably thought about following her to the Order of the Phoenix. But it's different for you. You and her had that falling out, and then she got together with Potter. You couldn't follow. But I bet you would have, if you could've. And me? Well, hell, Sev, of course I believe in blood purity, of course I believe muggles are rubbish, of course I want the Dark Lord to win the war. But that stuff all comes after Lucius."

"But…" Snape asked cautiously, "That's just Lucius. Why do you—I mean, would you—not care about my… you know. Loving a mudblood."

"Sev… I… my family growing up… my parents weren't abusive, or anything. They were good parents. They loved me, I love them. And my sisters… I guess I love them too, even though one of them is a self-satisfied blood traitor and the other is a half crazy bitch who tried to kill the love of my life in cold blood. But… we were never close. None of us. Not even me and my parents. We were all fine, and I guess there's love there, but we weren't… close. And now I'm making a new family, and I don't want it to be like that anymore. It's _all about_ family for me now, Severus. That comes first. Before blood purity, even before the Dark Lord." She paused, taking a deep breath.

"And I want you to be part of that, Sev. I don't care if you're in love with a mudblood, because… you're my family now, and nothing else really matters. The reason I don't want to know is that, even though I don't care what you think of mudbloods… Lucius probably does. And if I ever had to choose between you and Lucius, Sev… you know you could never win. I don't want it to come to that. I told him that Rodolphus is lying about you, and he believes me. Don't tell him any differently, alright? It's better this way."

Snape nodded, a little shocked by all the information he had just received. He had never been close to his family either, of course; he'd hated his parents, and that had grown into a slow, seething hatred of almost everyone around him. But he hadn't hated Lily—somehow, he still didn't—and he didn't hate Narcissa. And he realized that she did feel like a sister to him, and that it was closer bond than he'd felt with anyone for years. He was filled with a desire to say something kind, which was not a talent of his.

"Lucius is a good man," he ventured. "You couldn't have chosen better."

She smiled. "I agree. He's… he's amazing. But…"

"But?" he asked, eager at the chance to help with a problem, to validate her choosing him a as a friend.

"But… you know how Lucius gets when he's confident, in charge? The way he was when we went and got Rookwood to join up that night? You've probably seen it other times, too, when it's just you and him."

Snape remembered the day he had met Lucius at the train station, and knew exactly what she meant.

"I've seen that side of Lucius, and I like it, and I think it's… I think it might be one of the most real parts of him. But he hides it from me. When we're alone, he's a different person, and I love that person, too. But he's sheltering me, and I hate that, Severus. I don't want to be sheltered, not from anything. I want all of it, the good and the bad, not just from Lucius, but from everyone, and everything. You know what I mean?"

He nodded, though he didn't quite sympathize. Personally, he wouldn't have minded being a bit shielded from the harmful and depressing aspects of life. They had been so prevalent for so long…

"Okay!" she said abruptly, smiling again. "What were you saying about you and Yaxley?"

"Oh," Snape sputtered, having totally forgotten. He suddenly wondered just how long they had been talking. "I've been assigned a kidnapping mission, and since I have no experience, Yaxley and I agreed to run it together. We're bringing you, Lucius, and Dolohov. I need to get going, they'll be waiting. Will you come?"

"Hmm… well, I hate Yaxley, and Dolohov's a creep, but… hell, anything to get out of this old dump!" she said, grinning. She disappeared into what Snape assumed was the bathroom, and emerged in her black robes impressively quickly, her hair tied into a pony tail.

As she was reaching to open the door to the hall, she turned to him. "Sev. One last thing, before we go. It's important."

He nodded, ready.

"Look. I know you would have followed Lily to the Order, but you couldn't, and that's why you chose this. But you did_ choose_ it, Severus. You can't have her; you know that. That life is closed to you. You have to look to your other options now. If you became a Death Eater, at least a part of you must have wanted it. This is the life you have… and it's not that bad, Sev, you know? My point is… it's time to make a decision. It's time to decide which side you're on."

Snape knew it was true, but he didn't want to think about it. He avoided her gaze. She stared at him until he nodded, grudgingly, and then she pulled the door open. They took the elevator down to the second floor lounge, where Yaxley and Dolohov were standing in the hallway, talking at a very fast pace about ancient Dark Arts techniques. Lucius Malfoy stood with them, though his expression suggested that he wasn't quite able to keep up with the conversation. His mouth rose into a just barely noticeable smile as he saw Snape and Narcissa approaching.

Yaxley turned as well, smirking. "Jesus, Snape. You took so long, Crouch has reached the end of his term, retired from politics, moved to the country, and died of old age. So… mission accomplished, I guess!"

Snape ignored him, smirking slightly. Dolohov stepped forward, bowing his head.

"Severus. Miss Black. It is a pleasure."

Snape shook Dolohov's hand, and Narcissa bowed her head in return. "It's nice to see you, Antonin," she said pleasantly.

"Alright," Yaxley said, "The first thing we need to do is figure out how to find Crouch, and the best way to do that is have a talk with Rookwood. Since the scheduled meeting isn't for a few days, we'll have to stage sort of an impromptu one. Sound good, Snape?

Snape nodded. It was better than anything he had come up with. They quickly apparated, following Yaxley, and ended up in a deserted alley somewhere in London. Snape noticed that Narcissa had side-along apparated with Malfoy, and remembered suddenly that she wasn't allowed to—and actually couldn't, thanks to having no wand—use magic.

"Alright," Yaxley said pleasantly, "This is part of a network of alleys that Rookwood likes to take during lunchtime to get from the Ministry to a restaurant for wizards a few blocks away. He's one of the only people who uses it, since most other Ministry employees are social enough to just eat in the cafeteria."

Yaxley pulled a pocket watch out of his robes and glanced at it. "It's just about lunch time, so he should be coming by soon."

They crowded up against the wall, trying to appear like less than they were; five figures shrouded in jet black robes. They were ready to apparate at a moment's notice in case someone other than Rookwood came round the bend at the end of the alley.

However, Rookwood, dressed in brown, immaculately clean Ministry robes, was indeed the first person to show up. He was reading the _Prophet_, and was quite startled when, as he was just about to pass them, Yaxley made a sharp "pssst" sound.

"Jesus!" Rookwood hissed, laying eyes on them. "Oh no!" he suddenly said rather loudly, and not quite convincingly. "Death Eaters! Get way from me, you foul people!"

However, he quickly approached, pushing into the group until they were surrounding him.

"Uhm," Yaxley said.

"If I am being watched, it doesn't exactly look good if I'm seen friendlily conversing with Death Eaters. Pretend you're beating me up, or something!"

"Ohhh," Yaxley said, and punched Rookwood in the stomach. Rookwood doubled over, wheezing.

"Jesus Christ! Don't really do it, you moron! God!"

Malfoy grabbed Rookwood under the arms and pulled him back up to full height.

"Good, yeah," Rookwood panted, clearly still trying to keep his voice low. "Hold me like that. Now, what the hell is this?"

"Since when are you so easy to sneak up on, Rookwood?" Yaxley asked, not really bothering to lower his voice.

"It looks suspicious if I'm looking around nervously all the time! It's best to stay totally unaware of my surroundings, just like everyone else," Rookwood whispered testily. "You're putting me into serious jeopardy, coming here. What the hell do you want?"

Yaxley glanced at Snape and nodded, and Snape realized that he had been passed the baton of authority. He took a small step forward.

"We need to know when Barty Crouch will be vulnerable, and where to find him," he said, as calmly as he could.

"Well, too bad, because I don't know!" Rookwood hissed.

Snape blinked, unsure of how to proceed. Maybe finding Rookwood hadn't been a very good plan after all.

"Come on, Rookwood," Yaxley grunted, "give us _something_."

Rookwood rolled his eyes. "Fine… let me think…"

His closed his eyes, apparently searching through the massive database of inside Ministry knowledge that was his brain. The five robed Death Eaters watched him intently.

"Alright," he said finally. "I overheard a conversation in the elevator a few days ago. There are two aides in the Office of Magical Law Enforcement that work pretty closely with Crouch. Kula and Ripsom. At two o'clock today, they should be at Madam Malkin's buying Crouch a new set of Dress Robes for the Ministry Ball coming up. They'll have access to Crouch's schedule."

Narcissa looked amazed. "How did you remember the exact time like that?" She asked. "It was just a conversation you overheard? You didn't even know you'd need to remember the information!"

"Just a talent," Rookwood said, smiling uncharacteristically.

"He's got one hell of a memory, yeah," Yaxley grunted. "Trust me, though, it gets old fast. I think that tip should do us just fine. Thanks, Rook."

The smile disappeared from Rookwood's face. "Do not do this again. We meet once a week. No more, no less. If I need you urgently, I'll send you an owl, but you aren't to send me any owls, you aren't to contact me by floo, and you sure as hell aren't to try and meet me in person.

"Yeah, I know, Rookwood, we arranged all this together, remember?"

"Yes, I do remember, but apparently _you don't_. Never again!"

And Rookwood ran off down the alley, putting on a relatively convincing act that they had let him go and he was running for his life.

"Let's go back to the hotel and regroup," Snape suggested.

"Sounds good," Yaxley agreed, and in moments, they were in the hotel lobby, standing in a circle in front of the check-in desk.

"Alright," Yaxley continued, "Two o'clock isn't all that far off, so we'd better get going."

"Just a moment," Malfoy said. They all turned to face him, surprised. It was the first time he'd spoken.

"This is going to become quite dangerous," Malfoy said carefully, "and Narcissa is unable to use magic. She will be in serious danger, and I don't know that I'll be able to protect her. I would like to ask that she… not accompany us."

Narcissa frowned, grasping Malfoy by the shoulder. "But… Lucius… they picked me to come with them. I can defend myself, really. I'll stay back. You don't have to worry about protecting me."

"I'm sorry Narcissa," he said, and sounded like he meant it. "I was barely able to protect you on our last trip to Diagon Alley… if we try it again, you might not come back, and I… I could not…" he didn't seem to be able to say it in front of the three men. "It simply cannot happen," he said instead. "You must wait here for us. I shall come to you immediately upon our return."

"Well," she said coldly, clearly becoming angry, but forcing herself to remain calm, "I appreciate that, Lucius, but I'm afraid your concerns for my welfare are yours alone."

"Actually," Yaxley said in a surprisingly kind voice, "I have to agree. You're defenseless. Makes no sense for you to come, it endangers you both."

"Yes," Dolohov added. "I am sorry, Miss Black, but your presence will only weigh the rest of us down. You must wait until you are of age to start going on dangerous missions."

Her eyes darted from Malfoy to Yaxley to Dolohov as they spoke in turn, and she seemed to be becoming angrier by the second. She finally turned to Snape, quivering softly.

"And you, Severus? What do you think?"

He stared into her eyes, trying to tell her with his gaze everything that he couldn't say out loud in front of the others. That he wanted her to come with, that he thought of her as family, that she was essentially his best, perhaps his only, friend. But they were right, all of them. And there was just no way to get around that.

"I'm sorry, Narcissa," Snape said, and wished his voice did not sound so cold. "They're right. We'll send for you as soon as we return, but until you can defend yourself, and your safety is assured, you must stay home during the more dangerous missions."

The look in here eyes crushed him. She may as well have slapped him and called him a traitorous son of a bitch.

"As though the safety of any of us is assured!" She screamed. "We're Death Eaters, for God's sake!"

And before anyone could say anything else, she had stormed off.

"Do not worry, Lucius," Dolohov said after she had disappeared from sight. "We all know how women are. She will feel much better once she has cried and talked to her women friends about it. You made the right choice. This is men's work."

Malfoy had a pained expression on his face. He glanced at Dolohov and looked like he wanted to point out that the man had entirely missed the point, but apparently decided that it would be pointless to do so. Seconds later, he had managed to return his face to a mask of passivity.

"Well," Yaxley said, "With that out of the way, let's go. Now, the guys we're looking for might be there already… so non-lethal spells only, alright? This means you, Dolohov."

Dolohov smiled slightly.

Counting down to assure they'd all arrive at the same time, they apparated to Diagon Alley, appearing in the middle of Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions. As soon as they had appeared, all four of them had drawn wands, and the store lit up as stunning spells shot in all directions. Two third year Hogwarts students toppled off fitting stools into unconscious heaps on the ground. One of their mothers, who was looking through racks of dress robes on the other side of the store, did likewise. Snape looked around for other shoppers, but saw no one else. Dolohov was holding a middle aged woman by her collar, wand pressed against her forehead. She was writhing in an attempt to throw him off, but didn't stand a chance of doing so. His hand was clasped firmly over her mouth, and she could make only a weak, muffled sound. Snape recognized her from when he had come here to buy his school robes for his sixth year. Madam Malkin.

"Should I kill her?" Dolohov asked, in a voice which suggested that he wouldn't at all mind doing so.

"No," Yaxley said, "This is a pretty good place for robes… and it has sentimental value to us Hogwarts alum. Unless Snape disagrees."

"No," Snape said quickly, "Yaxley is right. Just knock her out."

Dolohov shrugged. "_Stupefy_," he said carefully, and, with a flash of red light, the woman collapsed to the ground.

They quickly hid the unconscious customers and shopkeeper in a storage room in back, then took up positions around the store. It was a perfect environment for an ambush; rows and rows of black robes hung from racks, allowing Snape, Dolohov, Malfoy, and Yaxley to simply step into them and disappear. This they did, and then they waited in silence, hoping that the brief light show they had put on had not been noticed outside.

If the firefight had been noticed, nobody had warned Kula and Ripsom. The two aides to Barty Crouch marched into Madam Malkin's with apparently no idea whatsoever of what was going on. One of them was a younger man, tall and slender. The other was short and plump, and getting quite on in years.

They walked up to the fitting stools in the middle of the store, looking about curiously. "Hullo?" tried the skinny one. "Madam Malkin?"

He had good reflexes. Dolohov's wand was barely visible as it poked from a stand of robes and blasted a curse at the man, but he somehow saw it, diving out of the way. The plump man, too, immediately threw himself behind cover. It suddenly occurred to Snape that aides to the Minister of Magical Law Enforcement were probably either retired Aurors or Aurors in training, and they were probably facing one of each.

The place had exploded into a dangerous rainbow of jinxes and curses. Now the multitude of robe racks was working against them, lending cover to their enemies. The Death Eaters, contrary to normal policy but in accordance to their earlier agreement, were firing only non-lethal spells. They were all quite surprised when the younger aide, briefly hauling himself on top of a rack of robes, pointed his wand at Dolohov and screamed, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Dolohov managed to duck just in time, the green jet of light boring a hole into the wall and sending splinters flying in all directions.

Yaxley and Malfoy were both sneaking around towards the man, attempting to close in on him from the sides. Both shot body-bind curses from behind cover, but the aide countered with a shield charm, nullifying each attack.. Dolohov, looking slightly injured, soon joined in the effort of hurling non-lethal jinxes into the flagging shield charm.

Snape, realizing that the other aide was still hiding somewhere, stood up from behind his cover to survey the store. He spotted the older man creeping around the side of the shop towards the battle raging in the back, and watched as he shot a stunning spell at Malfoy, hitting him hard in the back and sending the Death Eater to the ground. Snape pointed his own wand and fired a stinging jinx, which the squat man just barely managed to avoid with quick back step before ducking behind cover.

Snape heaved himself up onto a rack to try and get a better view, but instantly regretted it. A green death curse shot by his head, narrowly missing him and smashing into the roof. Snape rolled roughly off the robe display, hitting the floor hard. The wind flew out of him, and he lay there impotent, gasping for air.

It was surreal to have the Death Curse used against him. It was unlike any other spell; it could not be blocked by a shielding charm, and there was no counter-curse. If it hit you, that was it. You weren't getting back up. It was the most effective curse known to man; suddenly Snape appreciated a little more just why the Death Eaters were so feared.

"Got him!" Yaxley yelled triumphantly, and Snape, finally able to breath again, crawled halfway through a row of robes just in time to see the younger aide collapsed on the ground. He crawled out of the robes and stood, looking around for the retired Auror. He spotted the old man just as he was pointing his wand at Snape.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he cried, and Snape's wand shot out of his hand.

Now the Auror was making a run for the door, and neither Dolohov nor Yaxley seemed to notice. Snape felt a bit relieved; all he had to do was stay quiet, and the man would make it to safety. Except…

_It's time to make a decision. It's time to decide which side you're on._

He knew he had to choose. And he did.

"The other one's escaping!" he yelled. And that was all it took.

Dolohov leaped with impressive agility onto a rack of robes, which shook under him as he landed. He was bleeding from several superficial shrapnel wounds, and his dark eyes had malice in them. Within seconds, Dolohov had drawn his wand, aimed it, and shot a Death Curse directly into the escaping Auror's back.

The old man was dead before he hit the ground.


	11. Chapter 11

Joining the Fold

By Duckflesh

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor any of the characters used in the story to follow. The characters and all other Harry Potter trademarks are used here without permission.

_**Chapter 11**_

Snape stared at the body, suddenly so still and lifeless. The shop had fallen silent; Yaxley was rousing Malfoy at the far end of the store, and Dolohov was gingerly stepping down off the robe display, busily inspecting his shrapnel wounds. The junior Auror was unconscious, sprawled out on the floor in front of the fitting stools that Snape himself had once sat upon. The retired Auror was dead, one hand still reached out towards the door.

Dolohov approached Snape, rubbing blood off his hands with a handkerchief.

"Good work, Severus. It would have looked very bad for us if he had gotten away."

Snape nodded, eyes still locked on the corpse. It would have looked bad for them, yes; but essentially no other damage would have been done by the man's escape.

"Is something wrong, Severus? You seem shaken."

"No," Snape said. "I just… need to find my wand."

"I will help you look," Dolohov said cheerily, the last few minutes apparently having done wonders for his mood. They began kicking aside robes that had come dislodged during the battle, and the wand was uncovered quickly enough. Snape slipped it back into his pocket.

"Ugh," Malfoy groaned, rubbing his head as he and Yaxley came down an aisle of dress robes. "You've killed them both? That hardly seems practical."

"Not both of them, you prat, the skinny one is still alive," Yaxley said, rolling his eyes. "I guess we'd better get him back to the hotel."

"Shouldn't we try to cover up what we've done?" Snape asked. "Crouch will know we're after him."

"Yeah, but there's no real way to prevent that," Yaxley said, heading over to the unconscious Auror, fishing his wand out of his limp hand, and brutally snapping it. "Even if we hide the body, it's still going to be noticed that these two are missing. It won't exactly be impossible to figure out who's responsible. May as well take credit where it's due."

"The others are waking up," Dolohov interjected. Snape listened, and could hear stirring coming from the back of the shop.

"Should we kill them?" Dolohov asked.

"Hmm… we could…" Yaxley said thoughtfully. "No, you know, I'm too excited about what we're going to do to this guy to worry about anyone else. Chance are we'll end up killing them eventually, no reason to bother with it now."

Dolohov nodded in agreement. The four men pushed out of the store and into the sunlight, Malfoy and Yaxley carrying the unconscious aide to Barty Crouch like he was a rolled-up carpet. Across the street, the blinds on the windows of several shops rattled; no one wanted to get caught starting at four Death Eaters.

"It's your mission, Snape. You do the honors," Yaxley said.

Snape drew his wand and pointed it skyward. "_Morsmordre_," he uttered experimentally, and green fire poured out of his wand, swirling into the air. The effulgent flame formed into the shape of a human skull, its jaw gaping open. A snake was slithering eternally out of the skull's mouth, its forked tongue flicking the air.

"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" Yaxley said happily. "Let's go."

No further instruction was needed; all four of them apparated back to the hotel. Yaxley led them to the fifth floor, where they filed into a medium-sized suite, apparently unoccupied for quite some time. The stunned auror was tossed uncaringly onto the ground. Free of his burden, Malfoy took a breath of relief, wiping sweat off his forehead.

The living room of the suite was furnished with two chairs and a large sofa, and the men sat down, absent-mindedly staring at the limp form lying on the carpet.

"What are we going to do to him?" Snape asked, unable to restrain his morbid curiosity.

"Plenty," Yaxley said, grinning.

"The Cruciatus Curse should be sufficient," Malfoy added, busily smoothing his hair back. When he noticed that Dolohov was looking at him cock-eyed, he quickly tied his hair into a pony tail and let it be.

Yaxley snorted. "That's kid's stuff, Malfoy. Dolohov here is an old pro at this; he's not gonna just yell "Crucio" twenty times."

Malfoy shrugged. "There exists a curse specifically designed for torture. It seems like using it would be the most efficient choice."

"Well, that might be true, but we're not really as much about efficient as we are about 'slow' and 'excruciating' and 'inexplicably horrible'."

"Shouldn't you go get Narcissa?" Snape asked suddenly, causing both Malfoy and Yaxley to look at him with surprise. "The danger's past, I mean. Shouldn't you send for her?"

"Hrm," Malfoy considered slowly, "No, I don't think so. She'd be better off not witnessing this."

Yaxley snorted. "Wait, what? Not witnessing _this_? Didn't you encourage her to use the killing curse on some old muggle just a couple of months ago?"

"Yes, but that was a completely different situation. This is a wizard… a pureblood too, I believe. We're not dealing with some muggle or mudblood."

Yaxley rolled his eyes. "Listen to you, a Death Eater with goddamn morals. What the hell is the difference? Either you're okay with arbitrarily killing people for your own benefit, Lucius, or you're not."

"Yes," Malfoy said coldly, "And I'm not alright with arbitrarily killing _people_. I'm alright with arbitrarily killing mudbloods and muggles."

"There's no damn difference!" Yaxley bellowed. "I mean, fine, alright, muggles are rubbish, but mudbloods—they're still wizards! Who cares who their damn parents are!"

The look of distaste on Malfoy's face suggested that he didn't understand the question. "You're a mudblood supporter!" he stuttered. "Are you quite sure you've joined the correct side?"

"Ugh," Yaxley said, matching Malfoy's disgusted expression. "Listen to me, you prat. I don't give a damn who you are, or who your parents are, I'll kill you if I feel like it. If you're going to draw a line between people, then fine; muggles and wizards. But purebloods, halfbloods, mudbloods—it's all the same! Hell, magic had to come from somewhere! Every "pure" bloodline had to have started with a mudblood, somewhere in the past!"

"Nonsense!" Malfoy hissed. "If the Dark Lord knew how you felt…"

"The Dark Lord!" Yaxley snorted. "Do you really think he cares about blood purity? He's way above that! But he is a pragmatist, Malfoy, and he knows that the only way to get morons like you to work for him is to feed you what you want to hear."

"Blood traitor," Malfoy said, his voice dripping with malice.

Yaxley, surprisingly, laughed. "Maybe that kind of pansy insult raises all the eyebrows at the country club, you stupid rich sod. But it doesn't mean a damn thing to me. Everyone's life is worth the same to me, Malfoy; _nothing_." He grinned. "Dolohov, what do you think about all this?"

"I think we should awaken the prisoner and begin," Dolohov said thoughtfully.

"That's the spirit. Let's torture the hell out of this pureblood son of a bitch, and let's enjoy every second of it. Hell, go get Narcissa, she'd probably love this."

Malfoy glared. "We are_ not_ getting Narcissa. We have to torture this man, and so we will. But it's not the same as killing a muggle. Her sensibilities are too delicate. Best she not witness this."

Yaxley looked like he was getting ready to retort, but Dolohov stood up, drawing his wand and considering the prisoner thoughtfully. "We should respect Lucius' wishes in regards to his woman," Dolohov said, waving his wand and muttering the counter-curse for a stunning spell.

"Fine, fine," Yaxley grumbled.

Snape had watched this argument with interest. He himself was a halfblood… to purebloods, he was inferior, but still acceptable to talk to and consort with. The Malfoys and the Blacks, the Lestranges, the Averys… they were all as pureblood as they came. Dolohov and Kakaroff were foreigners, so their lineage was difficult to determine. But Yaxley… Yaxley was a pureblood name, but it wasn't the real one of the man who was using it. Snape wondered if Yaxley mightn't have been a mudblood himself.

Then again, maybe he was pureblood, and really just didn't care about blood purity. Not everyone did. Snape had been trying to for years, but sometimes, it just didn't line up for him. Some of his most hated enemies at school had been purebloods; his closest friend for years, a mudblood. Things didn't seem as simple as Malfoy wanted them to be.

Snape stood, and positioned himself so that he was across from Dolohov; the four Death Eaters were now standing in a circle around the man on the ground.

The young Auror was waking up. He looked at each Death Eater in turn, eyes bloodshot. He muttered groggily, reaching into his robes for his wand. His hand came back out empty.

"Kula?" he sputtered, then immediately began coughing harshly.

"Kula is the dead one, then." Dolohov said.

"Which makes this one Ripsom. Pureblood name, eh, Malfoy! You were right. Let's find out if he bleeds as much as a muggle does, shall we?"

Apparently Ripsom had regained his senses enough to hear what was being said, because he growled angrily, attempting to rise to his feet. Dolohov kicked him hard in the chest, sending the man back down to the carpet, gasping for breath.

"So, Ripsom. We need some information." Yaxley said happily.

Ripsom, panting, glared up at the large man. "Yeah, and if I give it up, you'll let me die quick, huh?"

Yaxley threw his head back and laughed maliciously. Dolohov, standing next to him, simply smiled.

"No," Yaxley said finally, wiping a tear from his eye. "We're going to give you the slowest, most painful death we can conceive of, whether you talk or not."

Ripsom, fear welling in his eyes, attempted to swell up his chest. "Not very brilliant, are you? Why the hell would I talk with conditions like that?"

Yaxley smiled, and kicked Ripsom hard in the ribs, sending the man sliding across the floor towards Malfoy, who caught on immediately and jammed the toe of his boot into Ripsom's neck. The junior Auror was sent rolling back into the middle of the circle, grasping at his throat and whimpering.

"Well, first of all, we're going to use Veritaserum, and assuming you haven't been conditioned against it, it will work, which means torturing you isn't actually necessary in the first place. It's just entertaining."

Ripsom sputtered something; apparently he couldn't breathe well enough to talk yet. "_Crucio_," Dolohov said thoughtfully, sending the young man into fits, thrashing about like fish that had been tossed onto the deck of a boat.

"Second of all," Yaxley continued cheerfully, "If you don't talk, we're going to get upset. We'll hunt down every living member of your family, and torture and kill all of them. We'll also go ahead and take care of everyone that stayed in your dorm at Hogwarts, and, hell, most of the people in your address book. We'll get that when we bust into your home to kill your… wife? Girlfriend? I suppose we'll find out soon, if you don't tell us what we want to know. I hope she's cute."

"Go to hell," Ripsom hissed.

"Tsk," Yaxley said. "What a cold man, to care so little for his own relations. Who's the real monster here?"

Malfoy snickered, though he looked a bit disappointed in himself afterwards.

"We should give him the Veritaserum now," Dolohov said. "So that we can torture him afterwards without worrying about him dying by accident. No matter how careful you are, it happens sometimes…"

"I have some in my room," Snape offered.

"Nah, knowing Dolohov, we've probably got some already," Yaxley replied.

Dolohov nodded, reaching into his robe and bringing out a small, black bottle. He popped the stopper out and leaned down, wrapping a strong arm around Ripsom's neck and jamming the bottle against his lips. The man attempted to writhe away, but a fierce kick from Malfoy left him curled in a fetal position. He gagged and sputtered as the Veritaserum dribbled into his mouth, and down his throat.

Dolohov stood back up, tucking the bottle away into his robes once again. Snape noticed a certain lightness in the man's movements; he seemed… very happy. This was what Dolohov lived for, Snape considered. He thought of himself as a master of inflicting pain—and yet, with Veritaserum and other magical means, the art of torture was basically irrelevant. There was little actual reason to inflict so much bodily harm upon someone, but such semantics were apparently of little concern to Antonin Dolohov.

"Where is Barty Crouch going t—" Malfoy was saying, but Yaxley shushed him.

"Come on, Malfoy, are you really going to start with that one? It's so pedestrian. Don't you want to know anything about him?  
"Not particularly," Malfoy said, shrugging.

"Tsk. So heartless. And I'm sure Dolohov just wants me to get the questions over with so he can have Ripsom here remove some of his own organs. Me, though? I consider the little interview the most intriguing part of the experience. Don't you agree, Snape?"

Snape blinked, not having been an active part of the conversation for some time. He tried to remember what he'd just been asked.

"Yes," he said finally. "There is much he can tell us."

"That's the spirit! So, for starters, who are you, kid?"

"Benjamin Ripsom," the man spat, eyes full of anger.

"And what's your position?"

"Auror in training. Assistant to the Minister of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Auror in training! Well, gosh, that must be exciting for you!"

"I hope you suffer for this, Death Eater scum. I hope you rot in Azkaban for fifty years, wishing for death every day."

"Aww, Ben, I know that's not really how you feel! Oh... right. Veritaserum. Hmm. Now, listen, I don't want you to be screaming while I'm trying to talk to you, but if you speak out of turn again, I'm going to have Dolohov remove your… well, I haven't decided yet. Something you'd probably rather keep. Now, hmm. What color is the sky?"

"Blue," the hostage hissed.

"Is this really necessary?" Malfoy sighed.

"Yes! We have to confirm that the serum is working!" Yaxley said happily, clearly not believing a word of it. "What family have you got, kid?"

Ripsom spat each answer, as though he was trying to prevent himself from saying them. "Mother… father… two brothers… one sister …"

"Ahhh, swell. Now, let's see… what else do we want to know…"

"The unforgivable curses," Malfoy said. "He tried to use the Death Curse against us. That's supposed to be illegal, even for Aurors."

"Oh, right!" Yaxley said. "God, what kind of monster would consider using the Death Curse? You're an animal, kid."

Ripsom glared up at him, but staid nothing.

"Seriously, though, Benny, you seemed almost eager to start going unforgivable on us. What's the deal with that? Isn't non-lethal cursing one of the first things they teach you at Auror's school, right before you learn the best technique for kissing other boys?"

"Times are changing," Ripsom said defiantly. "Barty Crouch is a brilliant man. He realizes that the current laws are holding us back. You have to fight fire with fire. It's not enough to stun a Death Eater—they need to be exterminated, and if that can be done during combat, all the better."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Hrm. Crouch is going to try and legalize use of the unforgivable curses for Aurors?"

"You're damn right," Ripsom said triumphantly. "And those of us that know Crouch is the future… well, we don't mind getting a head start. You bastards deserve no less."

"Shocking, shocking," Yaxley said, clearly having become bored with the subject. "Though, suddenly, kidnapping Crouch makes a lot of sense to me."

Ripsom's eyes narrowed into slits. No doubt he was filing the information away for later use, even though he must have known that he would never take a step outside the hotel again.

"Tell us about Barty Crouch," Malfoy said.

"He's a great man," Ripsom boasted, apparently eager enough to extol Crouch's virtues that he didn't bother fighting the serum. "Once he's in charge, things will be back on track as soon as you like. He's way different from the current minister. He won't put up with criminals. It'll be over for you and your pathetic Dark Lord, the withered old fool."

Ripsom had brought himself up onto his knees and straightened his posture, staring defiantly up at the Death Eaters. He was thrown back down to the ground when Yaxley's heavy fist collided with his cheek, producing a sound that might have been a jaw being dislocated. Ripsom whimpered in pain on the ground while Yaxley rubbed his fist as though he was the more injured party.

"Now, you be careful, Ripsom. I kind of like the Dark Lord. And Dolohov here, he likes the Dark Lord, too. I know he doesn't look angry, but trust me; he's angry. Thing about Dolohov, though, is he's not as much into the hands-on discipline as I am. Dolohov's going to make you pay without even touching you."

Malfoy, clearly fed up with the "interrogation", stepped forward, prodding Ripsom in his bruised ribs with the toe of his boot. "Alright, Benjamin. Where can we find Barty Crouch?"

"I don't know," Ripsom said defiantly, eyes full of satisfaction.

Malfoy blinked, staring. Snape expected that someone probably would have struck Ripsom, if they hadn't all been so surprised.

"You don't know?" Yaxley asked incredulously.

"That's right, you stupid goddamn git."

Dolohov frowned. "I thought…"

"He knows!" Yaxley growled. "He has to! Remember? Rookw—erm, our guy, he told us that Ripsom and Kula would know Crouch's schedule! And our guy doesn't make mistakes!"

"Perhaps the Veritaserum has worn off?" Malfoy suggested.

"It has never worn off this quickly before," Dolohov replied.

They all turned to Snape, who stared back at them.

"Well, Snape?" Malfoy asked. "How long is Veritaserum supposed to last?"

"Hmm…" Snape said, "It's hard to say. It depends heavily on who made the serum, how well it was made, how long since it was brewed, how well it's been kept…"

"So, basically," Yaxley growled, "You don't have any goddamn idea."

"I've never heard of it losing is hold quite this quickly before," Snape admitted.

"So what's your hypothesis?" Yaxley asked, patience clearly strained.

"Well… it's possible that it's just wearing off a bit, and he's using Occlumency."

Dolohov and Malfoy both raised their brows. Yaxley sighed. "If he could use Occlumency, Snape, why didn't he from the start?"

"He's only an Auror in training. Maybe he's not very good at it yet. Maybe he can only use it because the potion's effects are lessening."

Dolhov leaned down. He grabbed Ripsom by the neck and pulled his head up, peering into his eyes. The Auror gazed back with resolve, but his hands were shaking.

"I believe Snape is right," Dolohov said, finally.

"Hmm," Malfoy considered. "Come to think of it, I suppose they probably do train Aurors in Occlumency. We've never actually interrogated one before. I surmise, then, that we'll have to use other means?"

"Wait, are you suggesting we're actually going to torture him_ for_ something?" Yaxley said, frowning. "That's… novel."

"Except that you've already told him he's going to get tortured either way." Malfoy noted dryly.

"Oh, right… that. Well, I guess Snape should go get his Veritaserum."

"It might not work," Snape said. "Now that he's got the ball rolling, he could be able to use Occlumency even with a full dose of serum."

Yaxley frowned. "Damn, then what the hell are we supposed to do?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "We could just do what you suggested earlier."

Yaxley stared at him blankly. Malfoy sighed. "Dispose of his family."

"Oh!" Yaxley said, brightening. "Wow, we've never actually had to _do _that before… the Veritaserum has always worked. I usually just say all that stuff about killing relatives because it freaks the hostage out. First time for everything though, I guess. What family did he say he had?"

"Mother, father, two brothers, one sister," Dolohov recited, not taking his eyes off Ripsom.

"Oh, my," Malfoy said coyly, "It could take quite a bit of time to kill so many people."

"We don't have to kill them _all_, Malfoy!" Yaxley chimed in happily. "Ask him how old his sister is!"

Malfoy smirked. "Not just yet. I think he might be ready to talk."

Ripsom hadn't moved much since Yaxley had hit him. He finally looked up, and some of the fire in his eyes was gone.

"Do you… you promise…"

"Yes," Malfoy said impatiently, "we promise not to hurt your family, so long as you tell us everything we want to know."

"…How do I know that…"

Malfoy growled. "I swear it on my family name, you intolerable fool. Now I'd suggest you start talking."

"Crouch… Crouch walks his dog… seven o'clock every evening… in Hyde Park." Rispom had lowered his eyes to the rug.

"Useless," Yaxley said. "Hyde Park is too crowded, we can't get him there. Give us something better."

"I don't know anything better!" Ripsom insisted, looking with fear from one Death Eater to the next.

"Have you already forgotten what's going to happen if you don't hold up your part of the deal?" Malfoy asked,

"N-no!" Ripsom yelled. "Fine… there's more… I'll talk…"

But he didn't get the chance, because the door to the room slammed open, and all four Death Eaters momentarily forgot about the hostage. Narcissa stood in the doorway. Her chest was heaving from exertion—she must have run up the stairs. Her robe was gone; she was wearing a blue sundress that belied the ferocious look on her face. One of her hands was hidden behind her back. She appeared far angrier than Snape had ever seen her; her earlier fury seemed suddenly mellow by comparison.

"Best that I not witness this, isn't that right, Lucius?" she growled coldly. "My sensibilities are too delicate?"

Snape's eyes darted to each of his companions. Yaxley appeared greatly amused, and was looking back and forth between Lucius and Narcissa, a huge grin on his face. Dolohov looked somewhat interested, though he was clearly keeping on eye on Ripsom, who was anyway in no shape to make an escape attempt.

Malfoy stood stock still, as though bolted to the floor, staring directly at Narcissa. He looked terrified. However, it was clearly not lost on him that three of his comrades were watching the scene unfold, as he finally took an unsteady step forward and spoke with something that seemed almost like confidence.

"Now, Narcissa, I'm sorry to have deceived you. But it was done with your best…"

She strode up to him—and pushed right by. "I'll show you how delicate my sensibilities are," she hissed. Snape managed to gather enough courage to step in front of her, and began to stutter his own explanation, but she unceremoniously shoved him out of the way. She was now in Snape's place in the circle: behind Ripsom, who was apparently too tired to even bother following what was happening.

The mystery of what Narcissa had behind her back was now solved; it was a large kitchen knife. Bending down, she grabbed Ripsom by the collar with one of her small hands, and yanked him, with surprising strength, into a kneeling position. The weary Auror was too weak to do much more than grunt, his blood-shot eyes darting around confusedly. Even Yaxley, however, was too stunned to say anything, and none of them were quick enough to prevent what happened next.

"_I am not a china doll!_" Narcissa screamed, and slit Ripsom's throat. Dark blood coated the knife, and oozed immediately down the Auror's shirtfront as he began to writhe, gurgling blood.

For a long, painful moment, there was silence. Finally, it was broken.

"Oh, _God_!" Yaxley yelled, his voice neatly combining confusion and horror.

Lucius had gravitated towards Narcissa. He gently pulled her hand away from the now dead man's neck, allowing him to fall forward for the last time with an unsettling "thud". The knife clattered to the ground.

Snape looked at Narcissa, and saw that the rage had disappeared from her eyes. She was breathing heavily; her pale arms were covered in blood. Lucius seemed to be whispering something in her ear, but Snape caught only snatches of it; "sorry", and "darling", and "never again".

Snape glanced at Dolohov, who, uncharacteristically, looked rather upset. He was staring at the body, his mouth creased into a surprised frown. _Robbed of all his fun_, Snape realized, turning to Yaxley—

_Oh my God_, Snape thought, the moment he saw the look in Yaxley's eyes. The large man locked gazes with Snape, his mouth set into a straight, determined line. Yaxley glanced towards the entryway; the door remained hanging open.

Yaxley took off at a sprint for the hallway. Snape was faster, slamming hard into Yaxley, shoulder first. The older man toppled to the ground, the wind knocked out of him, and Snape pressed his advantage, attempting to hold him down. He stopped only when he felt a wand press against the back of his neck.

He raised his hands, slowly, and stood, turning to see Dolohov with his wand drawn.

"Good. Now please be explaining your actions."

Snape noted the uncharacteristic slip in syntax. Dolohov was clearly a bit distraught.

Snape's eyes darted to Malfoy and Narcissa, who were staring back at him, looking confused. "Yaxley is going to tell the Dark Lord what just happened," Snape spat out quickly.

"Cowardly bastard!" Malfoy roared, drawing his wand and aiming it at Yaxley. Dolohov quickly changed his target to Malfoy.

"I do not understand," Dolohov said. "She has committed a serious act, and this man's death is very harmful to our cause. The Dark Lord should be informed."

"Exactl—" Yaxley started, trying to stumble to his feet.

"Move from that spot, and you die, blood traitor!" Malfoy roared, and Yaxley quickly sat back down.

"Antonin," Snape said, trying to keep his voice as calm and level as possible, "The Dark Lord told us to find Crouch, but he never told us how. Using Ripsom was our idea. Him being dead, that doesn't concern the Dark Lord at all."

Dolohov frowned, looking unconvinced. "But…" he began.

"Besides…" Snape quickly followed up, trying another tactic, "Don't you think that… Lucius should discipline his own woman?"

Dolohov blinked, and considered. Eventually, he nodded. "You are right, Severus. Yaxley, do you agree?"

Yaxley snorted. "Discipline? Yeah, right. Let's see him do it right now."

"That is a private matter," Dolohov said, as though it should have been obvious. Snape pondered the ability of someone who made a living in torture to believe in the privacy of domestic disputes.

"Yaxley," Snape said, "Listen. You don't want to do this. The Dark Lord will blame you just as much as the rest of us. It seems like you'll gain something from this, but you won't. You know him. He wouldn't respect you for reporting this to him; he'd be disgusted that you were a part of it."

Yaxley's eyes darted towards the door again, but eventually found their way back to Snape's. They had softened slightly. "I wasn't even going to do this, you know. I was going to be legit, actually help you. But come on! Something like this happens, simultaneously ruining the mission and giving me the chance to get in good with the Dark Lord again? What the hell was I supposed to do!?"

"You can still help us," Snape said. "We've got one of Crouch's locations. It's not perfect, but it's usable. We can all get some rest, and then we'll get an early start on it tomorrow."

Yaxley sighed, his tensed muscles finally relaxing slightly. "Fine," he said. "Fine. But let the record show that I wanted to turn them in."

Malfoy slowly lowered his wand. Yaxley finally clambered to his feet, and, brushing dust off his robes, pushed his way out of the room. Dolohov, shaking his head in general disappointment, followed after.

Lucius had his arm around Narcissa's shoulder, and they headed for the doorway.

"Thank you, Snape," Malfoy said, and offered his hand. Snape shook it, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Narcissa smiled at him. "Thanks, Sev. I'm… erm…"

"Don't," Snape said. "We shouldn't have deceived you. It won't happen again. But, if it does… don't do something quite so… grandiose."

She smiled, almost giggling, which was an odd contrast to her blood-splattered dress. The couple exited the room, leaving Snape alone.

He turned slowly, facing the body of Benjamin Ripsom, deceased.

Someone was going to have to clean this up.


End file.
